


Beneath Stone and Sky

by ChasingPerfectionTomorrow



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Smaug, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5341193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingPerfectionTomorrow/pseuds/ChasingPerfectionTomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin’s eyes narrowed to slits, his entire body taut with acute strain, and said, in a startling bark, “Kíli, meet your bride-to-be, the Princess Tauriel.”</p><p>Stunned silence fell in the echo of this declaration and Kíli felt the world shift beneath him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It had to be written guys, it just wouldn't leave me alone. 
> 
> Well, some things everyone ought to know going into this fic: Smaug never happened and Thorin is King Under the Mountain (yay). Another small, but notable cannon divergence in Thorin's father dying not in Dol Guldur, but in an ill-fated attempt to reclaim Moria (in cannon, it was Thorin's grandfather who died there), and who then lost the last of the seven dwarf rings to the Orcs before they retreated into the lost dwarven city.

** Beneath Stone and Sky **

**Chapter One**

_In Which Plans are Set into Motion and Hearts are Broken_

 ----------

**O** ne evening, during a modest festival in honor of the winter solstice, Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood, found himself in a very difficult position.

He watched with mounting trepidation as his son, Prince Legolas, crossed the room and asked the Captain of his Guard to dance. Tauriel, whom he had adopted into his household after the tragic deaths of her parents long ago, smiled warmly and agreed, but it was the look in his son’s eyes as she turned away that made Thranduil’s stomach coil and his heart fall; he knew that look. He knew it all too well.

It was a delicate problem to be sure, and he knew his headstrong son would not take kindly to his interference, but _something_ had to be done --and soon, if Legolas’s sudden interest in running scouting patrols almost nightly was any indication.  

Tauriel, at least, seemed not to have noticed Legolas’s increasing deference, behaving much as she always had, for which he counted himself grateful. As much as Thranduil loved his adopted daughter --for he truly did-- the match was simply beyond question. His son would marry someday, certainly, but it would be a match arranged for political and economic purposes and _not_ to a Silvan elf of his own kingdom, even one he held so very dear. There was darkness afoot and foul days ahead, and so he had no time for personal strife amongst the members of his family.

For months he sought an adequate solution, watching the pair carefully from a distance, but could think of nothing that wouldn’t turn entirely disastrous, that is, until one fateful morning over tea.

“A missive from Erebor, my lord,” his steward said and Thranduil knew instantly that his day had been ruined. Nothing perturbed him quite so much as the King Under the Mountain.

 _Dwarves_ , he thought and bitterly tore open the letter, scanning its contents.

It was, much to his shock, an invitation to a ceremony that would officially name the King’s nephews as his heirs; a very great affair, apparently. Near the bottom of the missive, a note had been added indicating that the Dwarven King was also interested in facilitating a stronger kinship with the elves of Mirkwood while he was in attendance. The gesture might have been laughable --Thranduil had not visited Erebor since the days of Thorin’s grandfather, and that had not gone well-- but a plan began to formulate in his mind which gave Thranduil pause.   

After another moment of consideration, he called for a scribe and began to lay the foundation for a resolution to his son’s ill-fated fixation that would certainly stir things up a bit –provoking Thorin would, of course, only be an amusing side effect. He felt a momentary pang of guilt, not only for his son’s impending disappointment –something he was certain Legolas would recover from -- but for his adopted daughter’s unknowing involvement. He was king, however, and sacrifices had to be made for the good of his kingdom. And who knew, perhaps things would work to everyone’s advantage. He certainly meant to convey it to the dwarves in such a way.

By the time Thranduil was satisfied with his response, forcing his scribe to draft several letters, his tea had grown cold and he cursed the Dwarven King, who was clearly at fault.

* * *

 

 **T** horin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, stormed into his sister’s private solar like an angry troll. He brandished a thick bit of parchment at her as a room full of noble-women stared at him in horrified alarm.

“DIS!” he roared, voice reverberating off the walls and echoing down the hall. “What is the meaning of this?!”

His sister looked up calmly from her stitching and surveyed him slowly up and down as though inspecting a disappointing bit of merchandise.

“Leave us,” she said at last, and the women all but bolted from the room.

Though they typically presented a unified front before the public, the increasingly frequent fights between the Crown Princess and her brother, the King, were legendary, and no one was eager to be caught in the crossfire. Though talk of it would spread quickly and ruthlessly, Dis knew.

“What in Mahal’s name have you _done?_ ” he demanded, shaking with poorly concealed rage.

The princess set her stitching aside and rose gracefully to her feet. She was dressed richly in the dark blues of their house, with many jewels adorning her hair and beard and glittering from her dress and fingers. They looked much alike; the same strong brow, and thick, dark hair, but it was their temperaments which were most alike. It was almost universally agreed that the only dwarf in all Erebor who stood a chance against the King was his sister, who was undeniably a child born of Durin’s steel and fire just as surely as he.

“You have had years in which to make peace with the elves and you have failed, brother. _Spectacularly_. Thus, I took matters into my own hands,” she said, folding said hands carefully and lifting her chin.

Thorin stalked toward her with murder in his gaze. “What you have done, _sister_ , is betray me and our people. How could you do this?! Did you think I would not know? That I would not discover your plot-“

The princess’s temper snapped with an almost audible crack and she strode forward till they stood chest to chest. “You discovered my plot because I wanted you to, because I thought it might bring you to your senses! To the north, orcs amass in great numbers,” she hissed between her teeth and lightning flashed in her eyes, “guided now as they have not been in centuries. To the east, Dain treats with the southern dwarves who have long since turned toward darkness, and his people have grown hostile, belligerent, already they have begun to test our strength. And in the ancient forests, in the fortress of Dol Guldur, shadows stir and fester and the elves draw further into their kingdom. Shall I go on, _Your Majesty_? Shall I speak of the recent strain with Dale and how our trade has faltered and our friendship has begun to spoil?”

Her lips pulled back into a sneer. “I see how you fawn over the Arkenstone, how you leer over piles of gold and our stores of mithril like a dragon over his horde. Like our grandfather once did and as our father began to before he died. It is not I who have betrayed our people, it is _you,_ Thorin Oakenshield. Your mind is no longer your own and you know it.”

Thorin stumbled back from her as though physically struck, his face ghastly. “H-how dare you speak to me thus! I could have you thrown in the dungeons, exiled from this kingdom-“

“Do it,” she said and lifted her chin higher. “For you are not the brother I knew, and if you think Fíli and Kíli will remain once you have cast their mother out, you are sorely mistaken.”

Still shaken, Thorin managed to gather himself enough to lift the parchment still clutched in his hand and held it between them like a ward. “And _this_ is your solution? An unnatural alliance that breaches the very foundations of our traditions and culture?”

“An alliance that might spare us the darkness that is to come,” her tone was softer, calmer, and there was regret in her eyes. And a deep, lurking sorrow.  Once they had shared a kinship that knew no boundaries or conditions, but those days had ended when their father’s head had been hewn from his shoulders and Thorin had been named king.

There was a long silence, and when Thorin lifted his gaze there was little but malice and contempt. “There is nothing now that I can do that could unmake this treachery and not shame us all irrevocably, so I will embrace your traitorous plot, under _one_ condition.”

His smile made the blood chill in her veins.

It wasn’t until he left her much later, and named her no family of his, that the Princess Dís allowed herself to cry tears which she’d held secret for many long, terrible years. Her only hope for their people now lay in an elf-maid she had never met.

* * *

 **T** auriel, Captain of Mirkwood’s Guard, stared at her new collection of fine gowns while several women carefully packed them away, and frowned --deeply.

“You’re _certain_ the King ordered these for me?” she asked for the third time since the horde of seamstresses and servants had arrived at her rooms.

Felaris, the King’s Lady of Chambers, smiled with clear indulgence. “Of course, my lady.”

“And he wants me to wear _that?_ ” she pointed at a fine dress hung on a sewing bust that was made of dark blue silk and velvet, meticulously edged with glittering jewels, and bearing long gauzy sleeves that trailed nearly to the floor. It was completely impractical for her role as Captain of the King’s Guard.

“Yes, milady,” Felaris confirmed again, a patient smile on her pretty face.

Tauriel was terribly confused.

Normally she accompanied her king clad in blades and armor, not in fine dresses and jewels. She knew that in some technical way she was in fact a princess, had been since Thranduil had formally adopted her when she was still a child, but few had ever treated her as such. The King had been more than happy to name her Captain nearly two hundred years ago and never had he called on her to behave as anything other than his protector, something she had always been more than happy and honored to do.

She had always been much more suited to fighting and hunting foul beasts than she had wearing fine clothes and displaying courtly manners.

“Did he say _why?_ ” she asked, aware it was neither of their places to question the will of the King, but she couldn’t help it. It was all so very strange.

Felaris’s smile wavered a little and Tauriel knew her patience was waning. “I’m afraid not. Only that you were to dress appropriately for your presentation to the Dwarven King.”

The entire kingdom had been abuzz with gossip and speculation since the King had announced they would be attending a ceremony in Erebor nearly a month prior. Their people had little love for the dwarves, or they for them, but Thranduil had informed them, almost casually, that a new, stronger political relationship was on the horizon. Tauriel had thought perhaps the King meant to ally with the dwarves in response to the darkness growing in the southern wood, but that seemed highly unlikely and very out of character. It was not in her king’s nature to ask for help from outsiders, no matter often she urged him to.

The darkness was creeping ever further from Dol Guldur and their kingdom was ever shrinking from its growing shadow. The spiders had grown almost unmanageable, and orcs crept in closer from the mountains invading the wood as they had not dared to for a millennia. But Thranduil merely drew them further north and sent her and her men to handle the problem, slowly closing themselves off to the rest of the world. Though she respected and loved her king, his utter lack of concern beyond their own walls and caverns had long bothered her.

She looked at the dress again, considered, and reached out to trace a finger over a line of jewels. Perhaps her king had finally taken her advice to heart and now meant to present her as a member of the royal family, a united front to the dwarves. Whatever his intention, it was clearly political and carefully plotted. Everything Thranduil did was in service to some higher purpose and often was designed to achieve several things at once.

She would simply have to trust him.

Steeling herself as best she could, Tauriel let Felaris help her dress and then sat dutifully as her long, fiery hair was carefully brushed and braided. Despite her sputtered protests, a fine circlet was set upon her brow, followed by glittering strings and rings of silver that dangled from her ears dripping with _more_ gems. The only time she had ever worn a crown of such finery had been the day Thranduil named her daughter before all their people -- and she had hoped to never have to do so again.

 _All this_ , she thought grumpily, _only to spend most of the day riding in a carriage_.   

While Felaris fussed over her, her new things were swiftly packed away and taken from the room, until they stood alone before a full length mirror. The _elleth_ of her reflection was like a familiar acquaintance whose name she could not quite recall and she couldn’t seem to decide what to do with her _hands_.  Her normal attire of sturdy leathers, usually in shades of muted browns and greens, hid much of her figure, which the dress now seemed designed to reveal -- hugging her from breast to hip, and dipping low down her chest. At her waist she would have worn a wide, sturdy belt with her beloved daggers near at hand –gifts from Thranduil the day he’d named her Captain—instead Felaris hung a lovely silver belt that looped together and hung nearly to the floor.

“You look lovely, Your Highness,” Felaris said with perhaps the first true smile she’d given all afternoon.

“Captain,” Tauriel corrected habitually, hardly aware she’d spoken. There had been a few years after her adoption that people had insisted on referring to her as ‘Your Highness’, but her tireless efforts at correcting them had eventually worn down even the most staunch observers of decorum. The symbolism of Felaris’s use of her title was lost on her, too caught in her own worries.

There was a knock on the door, jolting Tauriel out of her reverie and instantly making her feel foolish for fretting over such a foolish thing as her appearance. Felaris opened the door and Prince Legolas stepped inside, looking dashing in silver-gray robes with hints of blood-orange.

“Tauriel, Father is waiting for us-“

He looked at her and stopped short, a strange expression on his face that made her insecurities come rushing back with a vengeance.

She ducked her head, feeling a traitorous heat rise from chest to cheeks. “Your father insisted I wear this foolishness. Apparently he means to have Curial and Delethrían as his guards and-“

Legolas startled her by tilting her chin up softly with a finger, and his eyes were intent. “You look… beautiful, Tauriel, truly.”

Tauriel looked down again, oddly fidgety under his scrutiny. “I feel ridiculous. I wish I knew what your father intends by all _this,_ ” she said waving a hand vaguely down at herself.

“Perhaps we can find out together,” Legolas mused, his voice kind, but there was a guarded quality to his expression when she raised her head that had not been there a moment before; one she’d encountered increasingly more often for reasons she couldn’t fathom. She and Legolas had always been very close, even before her parent’s deaths, and the sudden suspicion that there was something wedging itself between them was deeply upsetting. She’d wanted to mention it to him several times, but simply couldn’t find the words to give it voice, praying it would eventually sort itself out.

“May I?” he asked, almost shyly, and extended a bent arm toward her with genteel grace.

Tauriel nearly smiled despite herself, but lifted her chin instead and composed her face into an impartial mask. “I suppose you may,” she said, her façade breaking at the seams as the grin slipped free.

Legolas took her arm as Felaris tied a lovely cloak of deep silver edged in white fur about her shoulders.

Tauriel clumsily lifted the gown as they started down the hall and said, “Promise you won’t let me fall?”

“Always,” he swore with an almost strange sincerity, his arm tightening in hers so that she could feel the warmth of him even through the thick clothing.

Thranduil was waiting for them in the outer courtyard, a venerable army of elves ensuring that everything was in order. Twenty elves would be making the journey, the King and his family as well as their guards, and several of his most trusted councilors. Such a journey had not been made outside their kingdom for nearly four hundred years, and the anxiety of those gathered was almost palatable.

The King turned and his smile faltered for a moment when he spotted them, but was firmly in place again as they met him near a large carriage formed of intertwining branches and gleaming silver. Thranduil, who was always well dressed and meticulously manicured, looked even more resplendent than usual in elegant robes cast in shades of silver and gold, his coat a deep crimson that shimmered in the muted sunlight. His formal crown of branches and silver graced his golden head.

He took Tauriel’s hand, drawing her away from Legolas’s steadying embrace, and surprised her –and likely everyone else- by placing a brief kiss along her knuckles. “You look lovely, daughter.”

Tauriel’s heart skipped. She could count the times he had addressed her in such a manner on one hand and the certainty that something was afoot intensified.

“Thank you, my lord, for the gown… and everything else,” she said, not quite able to keep the question out of her voice.

Thranduil’s mouth curled into an almost devious smile. “I wanted my daughter outfitted in a manner befitting her rank for her introduction to the Dwarven King. You need not be so anxious.”

Tauriel flushed, feeling vaguely annoyed, as though he were mocking her somehow. “I would feel more comfortable with a blade at my hip and a bow at my back.”

He laughed at that, the sound like the tolling of a distant bell. “And for that you have my love, but humor me on this day, and perhaps a few more?”

Tauriel’s misgivings eased and she chastised herself for being so foolish. What was fussing over a fine gown and a small crown worth in the face of her king’s pleasure? Very little indeed.

“Of course, Your Majesty. It was a lovely present. I would be honored to be presented at your side.”

A strange shadow passed over Thranduil’s face, but he turned quickly away to address his steward, who informed them that all was ready for their departure.

“Shall we ride a span and save the carriage?” Thranduil asked, all gracious smiles again, but there was a sense of adventure about him, of eagerness to be on the road.

“An excellent idea, Father,” Legolas agreed, clearly catching his father’s mood and three fine horses were brought towards them. Tauriel’s horse, Minuial, a fine mare named for her pearly beige coat, nudged eagerly at her hand, and her concerns evaporated with the sudden knowledge that for the first time in her life she was leaving the forest to which she’d been born.

For many long years she had climbed into the great bows of the ancient trees that made her home and looked out over the world, longing to see more of it. She’d dreamt of finding the sort of adventure and valor spoken of in song and story, a deep pervasive desire to _do_ more held close to her heart. And here now was her chance. Perhaps not in the manner she had imagined, but still set before her all the same.

Tauriel had heard many tales concerning the majesty of the halls of Erebor and of the great riches it held, treasures that were almost beyond imagining. The dwarves had proven to be reclusive and uncouth in their dealings, trade having evaporated over the last several hundred years until only contention of past grievances remained.  But, despite her own personal misgivings about the journey, and dwarves for that matter, she was eager to see their infamous city beneath the mountain.

A maid helped Tauriel with her gown and cloak as she mounted Minuial _,_ arranging the train artfully across the horse’s hindquarters, and found her trepidation was momentarily forgotten. She turned and found that Legolas was watching her intently, seated upon his own white stallion, but when she tried to share her sudden eagerness with a smile, he turned abruptly away and moved toward his father at the head of the party.

Pushing the odd behavior aside in favor of excitement, Tauriel followed after, certain that things were about to change for the better.

* * *

 **K** íli, son of Dís, second in line to the great Dwarven throne of Erebor, stood atop the table of his favorite tavern in the more unsavory sector of the mountain, and stared down his competition.  

The other dwarf was older, bigger, and far hairier, but Kíli had always relished a challenge.

“You lads know the rules now,” Bofur said, his hat askew and his voice slurred. “Pretty simple I should think; last one standing wins and any regurgitation is grounds for forfeit. At the mark of three, drain your glasses!”

Kíli lifted his mug to the general cheers and wolf-whistles of the dwarves gathered and his competitor did the same.

“One!” Bofur called over the ruckus.

“Two!”

“Th-“

The door to the tavern banged open and Kíli turned with the rest. He groaned long and loud at the sight of his brother silhouetted in the burning torches with a company of guards at his back.

Fíli did not look pleased.

“Welcome, brother!” Kíli called, relying on sarcasm and charm in the face of his brother’s obvious wrath. “Have a drink won’t you? We were just about-“

“Mother summoned you over three hours ago, Kíli,” his brother interrupted, clearly having none of his younger sibling’s antics.

Kíli flinched and felt very like a whipped child. He leapt from the table and attempted to ignore the mocking smiles of the tavern goers. In truth he hadn’t known of his mother’s summons, intent on enjoying a morning of merriment before the long arduous ceremony of the afternoon and evening -he had avoided anyone who appeared even vaguely official.

“I, uh, hadn’t heard. Got an early start and all. I suppose she’s angry then?” His mother’s temper was a force to be reckoned with and he didn’t relish the thought of willingly subjecting himself to it.

Fíli smirked and it was a tad malicious, as though taking personal satisfaction from what he said next. “Now the _King_ is angry.”

Kíli’s stomach fell somewhere into the vicinity of his boots and without a second thought he downed his flagon and swept up his coat, flinging the empty mug at a dazed Bofur. His mother’s wrath was upsetting, but his uncle’s was _terrifying_.

Feigning indifference he raised a hand in farewell. “Sorry, lads, duty calls. Have a round on me!” He drew a purse of gold from his pocket and tossed it to the bartender, allowing him to at least depart for a certain doom to a chorus of cheers.

Hurrying after his brother down a narrow hall and toward the main causeway, Kíli asked, “How bad is it, truly?”

Fíli glanced at him, obviously annoyed and angry, but it was the hint of uncertainty that really caught Kíli’s attention. Something serious was bothering his brother who, while often disapproving of his behavior, was usually far more accommodating.

Hell, once upon a time Fíli would have been on the table in a tavern _with_ him. But then, a few years ago, Thorin had begun to involve Fíli more and more in the running of their kingdom and his brother had gone from being fun and carefree to being a serious, overbearing nursemaid.

“Bad enough. These next few days are _important_ , Kee,” his brother reprimanded, almost pleading with him.

Kíli soured and muttered, “Maybe for _you_ it is.”

Fíli came to a sudden halt and Kíli, who was more than a tad tipsy, nearly crashed into the heavily armored back of the guard before him. His elder brother took him firmly by the shoulders, his blue eyes intense and jaw hard.

“This isn’t a joke, Kíli. Dain will be here soon, not to mention a delegation from Ered Luin and elves from Mirkwood, which has not happened since the days of our grandfather. Tomorrow Thorin will name us his heirs, with war brewing in the north Uncle will need us with him, and if something were to happen to either of us, you would be-“

Feeling faintly ill at the implications, Kíli cut him off, attempting to look contrite. “I’m sorry, Fee, you’re right. I promise I’ll be on my very best behavior today.”

Fíli’s eyes narrowed, clearly skeptical, and Kíli gave an exasperated sigh, thudding a fist against his breast. “I swear on my honor that I won’t do anything reckless _or_ foolish.”

Another moment of concentrated scrutiny, then his brother’s face smoothed and his hands loosened. “I’m not sure you know the meaning of the word _honor_ , little brother, but it will have to do.”

There was a hint of a smile playing on his brother’s lips and he knew he was forgiven.

Kíli threw an arm around Fíli’s shoulders, smirking. “Come on, better not keep mother waiting any longer or you might soon be an only child.”

“Ah, a dream I’ve held dear since the day you were born,” Fíli shot back, nudging him off with obvious affection, and they went on their way, all while Kíli attempted to wrestle back a sinking feeling of dread in his gut.

* * *

 

 **T** auriel sat with Legolas and the King in the carriage not long after leaving the protective shade of the forest. It was pleasant enough as Legolas read and Thranduil worked his way through a foreboding stack of missives, she was content to simply stare out the window, watching the world pass by, imagining what their journey might hold for her.  

They swept past River Town near midday, a town with which they frequently traded goods, and she eagerly took note of the sprawling buildings built almost precariously on the shore and reaching across bits of land that stretched across the placid face of the Long Lake. Inviting trails of smoke rose toward a clear winter sky and she had an odd longing to visit. Perhaps she would be able to convince Thranduil to make a stop on their return journey.

In the afternoon, as the Lonely Mountain drew ever closer, Dale came into view, bright flags snapping in a cool breeze from high towers. Their party skirted around the city, and she craned her neck to stare up along mighty walls that had been made decorative with lovely bits of mosaic. She could see faces staring down, watching their progress with interest, before they were eventually stopped at the crest of the valley below and the road that would lead them to the Gates of Erebor.

Thranduil set his papers aside as the coach came to a full stop and peered briefly out the window. “Perhaps we ought to stretch our legs, and I thought we might finish our journey on horseback.”

“Is that safe, Your Majesty?” Tauriel asked immediately, the Captain in her rankling at leaving her king so exposed in the lands of such reluctant allies.

Thranduil smiled. “We mustn’t let the dwarves believe we are afraid of them,” he said, his tone rather teasing. “Besides, though I am loath to admit it, the gates are truly a sight to behold and I think you’d enjoy the view.”

Her eagerness to be free of the confines of the carriage drowned out any further protests she might have had, and she followed Legolas into the sunlight.

Ahead, Curial was speaking with two human guards, the frowns clear on their faces. Taking a moment to stretch her back, she approached. Dressed in finery she might be, but she was still Captain, and her men stood immediately at attention under her scrutiny. Delethrían saluted and Curial turned as the human guards looked to her with wide eyes, muttering something to each other.

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?” she asked Curial in Sindarin, keeping an eye on the human men.

Curial was perhaps her closest peer among the guard, his sister was also a dear friend, and she trusted him implicitly, even if she would have much rather seen to the King’s safety personally.

“The men of Dale were not informed of our passage, but they have sent word ahead to their Marshal, Princess- ah, Captain” he said, clearly frustrated, his hand inching towards his sword hilt.

Aware that the situation could easily spiral into conflict, Tauriel smiled at the watching guards and inclined her head. “Greetings,” she said in the common tongue, “I am Tauriel, Captain of the King’s Guard, how long until we might proceed?”

One guard nudged his flushed companion forward and he cleared his throat with a nervous cough. “A-ah, not long, m-milady. We are sorry for the inconvenience, but orders _are_ orders, you see…”

“Of course, we understand, we thank you for your efforts,” she said, secretly quite proud of her attempt at diplomacy. She’d always been a tad too blunt for her king’s tastes, but it had always served her well. Today, however, she would at least attempt to be genteel.

“Delethrían, you and three others stay by the King at all times,” she said in Sindarin, keeping her tone mild. “The rest of you, maintain a wary eye on the humans.”

They all saluted her in perfect unison and she bowed slightly to the guards who returned the gesture awkwardly, still watching her with rather dazed looks in their eyes. She considered, perhaps, that these men had never actually seen an elf before, and felt a tad more inclined to be patient with them.

After reporting the situation to her king, she went after Legolas, who stood at the apex of a slight rise, staring down into the valley below. Intent on not tripping over her dress or her own two feet, she did not look up until she reached his side, and drew in a sharp breath as she took in the sight before her.

The Lonely Mountain rose skyward, its peak stained white with snow, and she beheld the Gates of Erebor. Towering statues of armored dwarves stood on either side of intricately carved gates where banners waved cheerfully in the breeze. The great mountain river flowed out from beneath a massive bridge to make a natural moat of fiercely rushing water, and even from their distance she could hear its mighty roar.

“I reacted much the same, the first time I saw it,” Legolas said quietly, the light warm upon his fair face, turning his hair to pure gold.

Tauriel turned to him, surprised. “You have been here before?” He had certainly never mentioned it to her.

A smile, soft and sad, graced his face. “Once, long ago… before my mother died.”

Legolas almost never spoke of his mother and a stab of pain for his loss lanced through her heart. It was a loss they both shared, a ghostly memory of the women who had born them and had long ago departed. She took his hand with little thought, and his fingers closed over hers with only a brief hesitation. Turning again she watched as the sun began to dip in the west, setting the sky to flames.

Shortly thereafter, the guards of Dale informed them that their passage was granted, and Thranduil caught her as she made to fetch Minuialfrom her handler. He was wearing the same odd look on his face from earlier that day and he momentarily seemed at a loss for what to say.

“My lord?” she queried, concerned. The night was falling fast, the first stars already winking down at them, and they had little time to make the Gates before full dark.

The King searched her face earnestly for a moment longer before saying at last, “I want you to know how very much you mean to me, Tauriel. Your father was a very dear friend and your mother was as lovely an elf-maidthat ever lived. It has been an honor to care for and look after you.”

Deeply touched, but also profoundly confused, Tauriel frowned a little. “I am forever in your debt, my lord, but what-“

Thranduil shook his head slightly, cutting her off and drawing her into a surprising embrace. His arms were warm and strong about her and she could not recall the last time he had held her in such a way, surely not since she was a child. She had forgotten how much she liked it.

“I only hope you know that I love you as my own daughter. Always,” he said into her hair, his voice thick with emotion.

Tauriel returned his embrace hesitantly, wondering why it felt as though he were saying goodbye.

* * *

**"S** top fidgeting,” his mother snapped in irritation as a long cloak of rich blue velvet and fur was clasped to Kíli’s ceremonial pauldrons.

The damned things were _heavy_ and his back was already straining in protest. Mahal’s balls, how he hated dressing for pomp and ceremony --by the end of the night his poor back was going to be on fire. And never mind the blasted circlet that pressed down horribly behind his ears.

He reached up a hand to scratch at his temple but his mother slapped his hand away. “Don’t _touch_ it. Mahal bless, Kíli, you’re little better than a child.”

Kíli glowered, his mood dipping further as he looked to Fíli who seemed completely at ease, gleaming in his own freshly polished golden armor and bright red cloak.

His uncle stormed into the room a moment later, looking fierce and regal in his own ceremonial armor, the crown of the king fitted securely to his brow with his sword strapped at his side. He glared at Kíli and he looked at his boots, hoping his uncle would forget his anger in all the political wrangling that was about to begin.

Tonight their guests would arrive and there would be a grand welcome in the throne room followed by a great feast. The following afternoon the official ceremony would take place followed by _more_ feasting – it was the promise of endless mead that kept him from bolting for the deepest tunnels of Erebor. Just a few more days, perhaps a week at most, and everything would go back to normal.

Thorin drew Fíli aside, where they spoke in low voices, and his mother stood before him, adjusting the fall of his cloak. The expression on her face was oddly sad, almost sorrowful, and Kíli frowned.

“Mother? What is it? Are you still angry? I’m sorry about earlier, truly. I didn’t-“

She shook her head and, if Kíli hadn’t known any better, he might have thought she ducked her head to hide the tears glittering in her eyes. He had never seen his mother cry, not even the day they had brought his father’s lifeless body home.

“No, no, of course not,” she said, fluttering a hand at him. “It’s no matter, it’s only… well, I worry about you sometimes. I won’t always be around to look after you, Kíli, and your brother-“

Not entirely sure where this emotional outburst had come from, he took his mother gently by the shoulders and craned his neck till she was forced to look at him. He gave her his best, most charming smile, and sure enough it tugged an answering one from her.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Mother. I can take care of myself, I promise. And stop talking as though you’re going to die. You’re not _that_ old,” he teased with a wink.

His mother rolled her eyes a little, but rather than appearing truly irritated as she usually might have, she looked indulgent, soft almost -and soft was not a word he typically would have used to describe his mother. But she looked it now, and it made him uncomfortable, made him feel as though he ought to do or say something, but he had no idea _what_.   

“I hope you understand,” she said quietly, reaching out to take his face gently between her hands, “that everything I have ever done has been for you and Fíli.  That I have only ever wanted what was best for both of you and our kingdom.”

Before he could even think of anything to say in response, Balin arrived to announce that Dain and his party were ready, as was King Bard of Dale, and the elves from Mirkwood had just arrived. Kíli almost immediately forgot his mother’s odd melancholy in the face of acute dread.

“Very well, let’s get this over with,” Thorin grumbled and they all followed after him. Kíli was too distracted by his own discomfort to notice how his mother lagged behind or the shadow upon her face.

The Great Hall was full to bursting with dwarves and even some men who had traveled from Dale and perhaps River Town to partake in the historical event. The long room, which had been abuzz with laughter and chatter, fell silent as Thorin entered the chamber and strode toward the throne where the Arkenstone blazed with light.

His uncle stood, staring out over them as first his mother, then Fíli followed lastly by Kíli himself took their positions. His mother sat on a fine chair, a step below and to the right of her brother, looking regal and commanding in her finery. Fíli took his place at the left hand of the King on the same step as his mother, and Kíli sat near him, one step lower.

When they were all settled, Balin nodded to a servant who then nodded to the royal herald, who then took up his brass horn and blew a single long note.

“I present Dain Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills, accompanied by his son, Thorin the Third!”

The great doors across the hall opened and the Iron Hills’ dwarves made their way toward the throne.

Kíli could almost taste the tension in the room. Only a few weeks prior, word had reached them that supply wagons heading south had been attacked and apprehended in Dain’s lands. When Dain had been questioned he’d feigned ignorance, but then it had happened again a week later, and a third time the week after that. Many of the King’s Council had called for war or, at the very least, swift retribution and Kíli had quietly agreed with them. The King, however, had erred on the side of caution.

As far as Kíli was concerned, Dain Ironfoot had forgotten to whom he owed his allegiance and clearly needed reminding.

“Kee,” Fíli warned under his breath as Thorin stood prompting everyone, save his mother, to stand as Dain and his son stopped at the brink of a lush red carpet below the steps.

Kíli stood last, gripping the hilt of the axe at his side. Dain was a large dwarf, tattooed and battle scarred, with a shock of red-gray hair and a long beard braided in a warrior’s fashion. He wore battle armor, heavy and unpolished, with a massive axe at his back. His son, Thorin –how dare the man name his son after the King!-- looked like a smaller, uglier version of him. Both looked up at the King with expressions bordering on sardonic.

After a very long and exaggerated pause, the two dwarves bowed. A gesture which Thorin and Fíli reflected and Kíli avoided. _Hang decorum_ , he thought, _it is an outrage!_  He took pleasure in imagining how it might feel to punch the smirk off Thorin III’s snide, pinched face.

“Welcome, cousin,” Thorin said, wearing his formal smile with the same ease as he wore his crown and it somehow managed to convey warmth and warning simultaneously.

“It’s been too long, Thorin,” Dain drawled, his posture relaxed, bored even. The Lord of the Iron Hills then turned his attention to Kíli’s mother, a smirk twisting his lips. “You’re looking lovely, Princess,” he said, close to sneering.

His mother tilted her chin and looked at Dain as though he were little more than a bug she meant to smash. There was no sign of softness in her now. “Welcome, my lord, we are so pleased you could make it for the ceremony. It is comforting that you would travel so far to show your loyalty to the King and his heirs.”

Amusement glittered in Dain’s eyes, as if he knew something they did not, and he bowed again. “I will let you see to your other guests. There will be _plenty_ of time to catch up later.”

Thorin nodded sharply, eyes narrowed, as Dain and his son departed into a nearby antechamber. The interaction had been odd, but Kíli set it aside, certain it would sort itself out, whatever it was.

Next came King Bard of Dale with his Queen, the Lady Sera, and their three children -two girls and a boy. Bard greeted them cordially, offering his congratulations and support, but there too was tension. For reasons Kíli did not understand –he rarely paid attention to anything political if he could help it- things had become strained with Dale. The eldest daughter, a pretty thing despite the lack of facial hair, looked upon Fíli and flushed, which at least promised Kíli some later amusement when he could tease his elder brother about the human princess’s affections.

At last, the elves arrived. Night had fully fallen, the stars glittering outside and the torch light battling for dominion with the bright light of a full moon. Kíli, who had never before seen an elf, found himself strangely eager.

“I present Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, and his children, the Prince Legolas and the Princess Tauriel!” the herald cried, and there was an expectant hush upon the crowd.

The doors opened again and the elves began their trek to the throne, a wave of excited and anxious murmurs following in their wake. They were very _tall,_ was his first thought, and his second was that he could not tell which of the Elvenking’s children was the maid and which was a lad. He nearly laughed aloud and fought the urge to nudge Fíli.

It was impossible to deny that the elves were very fair, with luminescent faces and graceful gestures, but it was the princess –once he was indeed certain she was in fact a _she_ \- who drew his eye. She seemed… uncomfortable, eyes darting through the crowd before finally alighting on Thorin, bypassing Kíli completely. She, he determined reluctantly, was indeed lovely –though the lack of a beard was rather unsettling. Her hair, long and flowing down past her waist, reminded him of molten copper and her eyes were bright and green like leaves caught in sunlight. She was unlike anything he had ever seen.

“Greetings, Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. We welcome you and your family to Erebor,” Thorin said, his tone polite, but decidedly cold.

The Elvenking, with his crown of wood and silver, dipped his head slightly, his children mimicking the gesture. He was the tallest and most imposing of the three elves and, if the tales were true, also many thousands of years old – it was a hard thing to believe. His son looked much like him, though his features were softer and his gaze more kind. The daughter clearly had taken after her mother for she looked little like either of them.  

“You honor us with your invitation and generous welcome, King Thorin, and I hope this day might herald a new age of friendship between our peoples,” Thranduil replied, his deep voice resonant and pleasing to the ear.

Thorin’s jaw clenched briefly and he looked to the Elven Princess. “We were shocked to learn you had a daughter, my lord, for we had only ever heard of a son. I bid her special welcome.”

The elf-maid colored prettily, lips pursing, and eyes dipping away.

Thranduil smiled, unperturbed. “She is my ward, adopted officially after the terrible deaths of her parents many years ago. I apologize if you were unaware of the occurrence, but I assure you all the formalities were attended to.”

 _At least that_ _explained a few things,_ Kíli thought, though the exchange seemed.... strange.

Something odd passed between the two kings, something Kíli certainly didn’t understand, a sort of silent battle of wills, but then the moment passed.

“Please, allow my steward to show you to my personal antechamber where we can converse with one another more comfortably,” Thorin said, words dripping with innuendo, and Kíli saw his mother flinch mysteriously.

Something was going on, something that had so far gone _completely_ over his head. Glancing up at his elder brother, Kíli saw the same question painted clearly on Fíli’s face.

The elves departed with another round of polite bows and the princess briefly caught his eye before moving to follow her king. The Elven Prince walked closely at her side and whispered something in her ear that made her smile a little.

She had a lovely smile.

Kíli shook his head, banishing the thought, as his uncle addressed the room.

“Feast now, my friends, feast now in honor of my nephews and the enduring line of Durin! Enjoy this night, for great change is coming,” Thorin said loudly, then softly as though in anxious prayer he added, “May Mahal bless us all.”

They left the hall, following after the elves amid cheers from the crowd, and Kíli ducked his head toward his brother to whisper, “ _That_ was odd.”

Fíli’s face was grave as he stared at Thorin's back. “Very odd indeed. Something isn’t right, Kee… I don’t like it.”            

Moments later Kíli stood slightly apart as the Elvenking greeted Thorin in the royal audience chamber, an opulent room that he hated to frequent because it usually meant he was uncomfortable or in trouble –usually both. He took up a space near the back of the room, as close to the door as possible, and attempted to appear attentive and interested, hoping that maybe he could make a break for it. A headache was pulsing in the back of his head and, as expected, his back was aching fiercely from the weight of his armor. He thought wistfully of how he’d soon be able to return to his rooms to change, then maybe he could sneak down to a tavern and play some dice, get his mind off of things for a few hours.

Yeah, that sounded great.

“Kíli,” Thorin called suddenly, tone hard, snapping him away from his pleasant imaginings. “Come here.”

Frowning, and sharing a confused glance with his brother, Kíli came forward, watching with interest as the Elvenking gracefully motioned his daughter forward as well. The elf-maid looked equally confused, her bright eyes catching his again before shifting away. There was something about the way she moved, something that spoke of more than grace and beauty, something that warned his warrior’s mind of danger. But he couldn’t quite help also taking note of the gentle swell of her breasts beneath the gleaming silk of her gown or the pleasing sway of her hips as she walked, and wondered if perhaps he were still drunk -she was nearly half a foot taller than him!

His mind was clearly not his own as further embarrassing thoughts briefly consumed him; _her dress looks like stars cast across a night sky and her skin, clear and flawless, gleams as though touched by moonlight._

 _Mahal’s balls_ , _man, pull it together_ , he internally chastised himself. Clearly it had been too long since he’d last enjoyed the company of a woman.

Thorin did not even look at him as he came obediently to his side, his uncle’s burning eyes fixated on the Elvenking. Again there was the inexplicable tension that Kíli still could not account for, but he took his uncle’s cue and elected for a hard glare.

The elf-maid stood at her king’s side and her mannerism was oddly protective, her fingers clenching and unclenching at her side in an anxious tick that he immediately recognized; her hand was searching for a blade.

“Shall _I_ announce the joyous news then?” the Elvenking asked at last, a pleasant smile not quite reaching the icy gray of his eyes. “I think it probably best to get it over with.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed to slits, his whole body taut with acute strain, and said, in a startling bark, “Kíli, meet your bride-to-be, the Princess Tauriel.”

Stunned silence fell in the echo of this declaration and Kíli felt the world shift beneath him.

When he’d been very small, Kíli had once climbed a very high wall in the lower forges. It was a game all the dwarf children played -who could climb the highest without getting scared. Fíli hadn’t let him climb because he was too small, but even then Kíli hadn’t appreciated being told what to do. So, when the other children were distracted, he began to climb without the usual safety rope attached to his waist. After all, he was a son of Durin, he was tough and brave. He hadn’t made it very far, fortunately, when his foot slipped out from under him while reaching for the next hand-hold, and he would never forget the sickening sensation in his gut as he fell into open air.

Meeting the startled eyes of the Elven Princess induced a very similar reaction, and he was too stunned to register the cry of outrage that erupted from both sides of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili and Tauriel cope with the shock of their engagement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews! Huge shout out to Misscity (helia on AO3) for betaing for me, it helps soooooo much. 
> 
> This chapter was rough to hammer out but I hope you like it anyway. :)

** Beneath Stone and Sky **

**Chapter Two  
**

_In Which Announcements are Made and Families are Torn Apart_

 

* * *

 

Tauriel stared unseeingly into the crackling flames of the hearth, feeling numb and disconnected. From the adjoining room, voices drifted brokenly through thick stone and wood.

“How could you do this to her! Have you-“

“….know why, did you think I would not notice….”

“…so cruel? She does not deserve to be sold off to dwarves-“

“I am king, and you will obey me. What I do….. for the best… of course I care for her!”

The door banged open a moment later and Legolas strode furiously into the room, pausing briefly to look at her. Tauriel had never seen him so furious, nor so miserable, and he turned away from her without a word and left, disappearing into the torch lit hall outside. He left a hollowness behind that tore at her very soul and she was certain she had never felt so alone.

Thranduil came to her after a heavy silence that might have stretched a decade, and he looked down at her as she sat, his face cast in shadow and flame.

“I know you will not understand my motivations, but I swear that it is for the benefit of our people.”

Tauriel blinked, looking toward the flames again. It didn’t feel real. She kept waiting for someone to tell her it had all been part of some elaborate or cruel joke. In her mind the Dwarven prince’s shocked and disgusted face burned like a brand in her thoughts, tormenting her with the truth.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she breathed.

“I couldn’t risk Legolas’s interference,” Thranduil said immediately, as though he’d long prepared for this conversation.

“But _why_? Have I done something to displease you? I-“

Thranduil knelt, jarring her, and took her hand. His eyes were pleading. “It is nothing you have done, Tauriel, I swear it, but allegiances are going to be important in the dark days to come and I could think of no other way-“

She hissed and pulled away from him, rising to her feet as the cold inside her gave way to hot ire.

“Do not lie to me,” she spat, forgetting that he was her king and she his subject. All she knew for certain was that she had loved him and he had betrayed her. “This has something to do with Legolas, doesn’t it?”

Thranduil’s eyes hardened and he stood. “I saw what was in his heart and knew it could never be, but it was not the only reason.”

She hadn’t known. She hadn’t even realized. Tears welled and she struck her chest with a fist. “And what of _my_ heart? Does that mean nothing to you?”

All evidence of guilt or heartache was gone from his face and he lifted his chin. “My duty to our people is greater than my duty to you, Legolas, or myself. This alliance is important for many reasons, and by agreeing to it, you will be doing a great service for our kingdom.”

“And if I will not do it? If I refuse?” she demanded, anger consuming all reason.

Thranduil was silent for a moment before drawing in a harsh breath. “Then you will be an exile, a traitor to the crown. There would be no safe haven left for you.”

Every word was a dagger in her heart and everything she had ever believed of him shattered into jagged pieces between them. She felt sick.

“Then… I have no choice.”

“I am sorry, Tauriel. Someday, perhaps, you will understand.”

 

* * *

 

Kíli swirled the contents of his glass, briefly admiring the amber glow through the fine crystal, and downed it in a single swallow. His uncle was silhouetted in the firelight, standing before the hearth with his feet wide apart and his hands clasped behind his back. Everyone else, despite fervent protest, had been forced to leave the room.

“You will do this, Kíli, for our people,” he said as though commenting on a particularly boring bit of text.

Drunk and wallowing in the tatters of what his life had once been, he slurred a response, “Do I have a choice?”  

A pause, and then, “I have allowed you to run rampant and unchecked for too long, nephew. That changes now. You _will_ marry the she-elf and you _will_ behave as befitting a member of the royal family and a son of Durin.”

Kíli had a sudden flash of memory and it was disorienting in its clarity: Thorin lifting him boisterously into the air when he was barely in his teens, laughing and smiling as he swung him around. It was his name day, and Thorin had brought him his first bow, showing him how to string it and then taking him out to the training grounds to practice. It had been a good day. A happy day. Before his father had died.

He could not remember the last time his uncle had smiled, truly and honestly smiled.  

Kíli rose clumsily to feet, the room spinning until he was able to blink it back into focus. “May I be dismissed?”

Thorin’s head turned slightly, jawline sharp and unforgiving. “Yes, you are dismissed. But heed this, if you do not behave as befitting a Prince of Erebor, you will find yourself without a home.”

The words slid over him, cold and slimy, but not truly penetrating the shell of his numb and drunken haze and Kíli swept an exaggerated, clumsy bow. “Yes, _Your Majesty_.”

He stumbled from his uncle’s room and away from the royal wing, the guards watching him with impassive disapproval and he didn’t care. Damn them, damn them all.

As if following some deep instinct, he eventually managed to make it to a tavern without conscious intention. The place was packed with celebrating dwarves and all of them were eager to buy him a drink, something he was more than willing to take advantage of. Things blurred quickly. A flurry of faces, that were almost menacing in their cheerfulness, leered at him from the incapacitated corners of his mind. Thankfully, much of the night fell away and into irresponsible darkness, which he embraced with open arms.

A cold bucket of water woke him the next morning.

He found himself sputtering and cursing on a dirty wooden floor with no clear memory of how he had gotten there. His bed mate, a pretty lass with fair hair and lovely rounded breasts, stared at the soon-to-be Crown Prince of Erebor with a mixture of awe and terror.

“Mother has been looking for you,” Fíli said flatly and Kíli’s head pounded too fiercely to distinguish his expression or tone.

“What time is it?” he growled, teeth chattering as he tried to make the room stop spinning.

“An hour or so before dawn.”

“Let her bloody look, then,” he groaned, feeling like the wrong end of a dog.  

Fíli ignored him and tossed the woman a purse of gold. “Out,” he commanded, and waited until the lass had gathered her clothing and departed before speaking again.

“I tried to reason with Uncle, Kee, but he will not listen,” he said softly.

Kíli sat up, letting his head hang between his bare knees. Flashes of the day and night before chased through his mind, turning his already unsettled stomach. “Is that supposed to be surprising?”

“I-well, we fought, all through the night, but he is determined to see it through. Apparently, King Thranduil has offered support against Dain and the orcs in the north, not to mention revitalized trade.”

“We do not need their help,” Kíli hissed, stumbling to his feet in search of his clothes while his wet hair dripped in his eyes.

Fíli scoffed. “I know you don’t pay attention during Balin’s speeches or Dwalin’s briefings, but surely you understand that things have grown very serious. The orcs have multiplied in the north, and Dain continues-“

“Dain is a coward and a traitor,” Kíli snapped, tugging on his pants with an awkward hop that made his head really start to pound. Mahal, if only he could make the world stop tilting.

“He also has a large army and has become increasingly popular among not only his _own_ people, but the dwarves of Ered Luin and those in the south. Many are whispering that perhaps the wrong son of Durin sits upon the throne of Erebor.”

It was too early for such serious talk. “That’s treason and rumor,” he said dismissively, pulling his rumpled, mead stained tunic over his head. He smelled terrible.

“Rumors can carry a great deal of substance,” Fiíli said, sitting heavily in a wobbly wooden chair in the corner.

Realization dawned suddenly and Kili turned. “You agree with him don’t you? You think I ought to marry that-that elf,” he sputtered, aghast.

Fíli looked down, clearly waging some internal battle. “The treaty is a good one, Kee. If you would just-“

“Mahal’s balls, Fee! She’s likely a thousand years old! Not to mention her people have a long history of cowardice and lies. How could you ask me to marry one? It isn’t natural!” he cried, throwing up his hands in outrage.

“That isn’t fair, Kee. And from what Balin’s told me the princess is likely rather young for one of her kind, probably only four to five hundred years old.”

“Oh, right, _only_ ,” he scoffed dryly and stood broodingly with his hands on his hips. “Durin save me, I can’t do this, Fee. I can’t marry some haughty Elven princess. Did you even see the way she looked at me? I’m little more than a child to her-“

“To be entirely fair, Kee, you’re little more than a child to everyone.”

Kíli glared and tossed a lumpy pillow from the floor at him. “I’m serious, Fee, this is complete and utter madness. You have to make Uncle see reason!”

Fíli frowned deeply, and Kíli noticed for the first time how tired he looked. Great dark circles sagged under both eyes and a deep crease marred his brow making him appear to have aged several years overnight.

“I will continue to speak with him, see if there might be some other way we can cement an alliance, but Kee, once the announcement is made public… there will be no taking it back, not without a great deal of trouble.”

“I excel at trouble,” Kíli countered, feeling oddly panicky in his own skin. His uncle, he knew, planned to announce the engagement during the crowning ceremony that afternoon.  That wasn’t much time to convince everyone what a terrible idea it was.

Fíli’s smile was rather sad, almost wistful. “I know you do, brother, but this time is different. This time you do not risk merely Thorin’s annoyance or perhaps an angry father or two, but the fate of our entire people.”

Kíli groaned, rubbing his eyes. He quite simply could not handle this right now. “I need a drink.”

His brother snorted. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and I’ll find some of that brandy you like so much,” Fíli said with forced enthusiasm.

Kíli scrubbed a hand over his face, searching and failing to find another alternative beyond running for the door and attempting to lose himself in some forgotten cavern. It was a more tempting thought than he’d have liked to admit.

Instead he pulled a wan smile and followed his brother dutifully out of the brothel. “You truly know the way into a man’s heart.”

After a long bath, several drinks, and a sparse breakfast, Kíli stood in his mother’s private solar, tired and beyond cranky. Fíli had already left him, called by their uncle to sit in council prior to the ceremony, leaving him to wallow alone in the aftermath of his sobriety. There were only mere hours between him and the end of everything he knew. It was perhaps a tad dramatic, but not precisely untrue.

But, he reasoned, if anyone could help him now, it was his mother.

The Princess Dís rushed to him immediately and held him in a long, fierce hug. “Oh, my son, I am sorry. I know what a terrible burden this must be.”

His mother had not held him in such a way in a long while and it brought back memories of simpler, happier days --before his father had died and his uncle had grown distant. It was not as difficult as he’d imagined to let his anxiety show.

“Help me, mother,” he pleaded. “Help the King see reason.”

He felt her stiffen in his arms immediately, and she pushed slightly away from him. “Kíli, I- that is-“

He saw the truth of it then, the pieces fitting seamless together, as he recalled her behavior right before they’d entered the throne room the evening before.

“You knew,” he breathed in shock, stepping from the circle of her arms. “You knew and you didn’t tell me.”

His mother frowned, guilt and pride warring on her face. “Yes… I knew, though I had not imagined Thorin would announce it in such a fashion. I had thought he would tell you in private, allow you to meet the girl a little first-“

“You mean _elf_ , mother,” he spat. Could he truly trust no one? Had they all gone mad?

“How can Thorin do this? What was he thinking? You must speak to him, mother, you must force him to see reason,” he said aloud.

The silence stretched and stretched, her eyes cast away from his. “Kíli… you must understand. Thorin is not himself. He’s slowly driving everyone and everything away. I had to do something-“

She broke off as he shook his head in total disbelief, a chill creeping through him. “What are you saying, mother? That this was all _your_ idea?”

She reached for him in supplication. “You must understand that I did it for us all, to save us-“

He shook her off, an almost incomprehensible hurt washing through him, burning away the pleasant numbness that strong drink had allowed.

“How could you do this to me? How could you believe this was the right thing to do?”

“Kíli, _please_ -“

“No!” he hollered, fury billowing smoke and fire like an awoken dragon inside him. Through all the years of his uncle’s temper and consternation, his mother had always been there for him. Always.

“My, son, please listen. I-“

“I am not your son!” he spat and paced away from her toward the door, feeling suddenly as though there wasn’t enough air in the room. The pressure of the mountain weighed down upon him as a look of pure pain flashed across her expression.

“If it is true, if you have led me to this fate, then you are not my mother,” he growled venomously, taking a terrible pleasure in her hurt and fled, unable to face the grief of her stare any longer or the agony in his heart.

It was hopeless, he realized, hurrying down the passageway and toward the main halls where he might find fresh air. He found it eventually, bursting out onto the parapets of the main gate, and drawing in harsh breaths. The sun was high, but the day was cool, hinting at a swiftly falling winter. Below, at the crest of the valley, the bright flags of Dale waved. It was a view he’d known and enjoyed all his life, but it offered little comfort now.

Briefly he considered taking a horse and running for it, disappearing into the wide world that existed beyond valley and forest, but he knew there was nowhere for him to go, no life for him beyond the mountains caverns to which he’d been born.

His fate was sealed.                     

 

* * *

 

Tauriel’s rooms were lovely.

They were richly and comfortably furnished, with many fine carvings, tapestries, and rugs, and her every need or desire had been attended to, but it was the balcony she most appreciated. She wondered if the rooms had been given to her because they looked out to the south or if it was merely by chance. Either way she had spent much of the night and the morning staring at the distant tree tops.

Everything was silent and still, like the calm before a storm, and she was afraid of what came next. Today she would be bathed and dressed and adorned and made to stand before the Dwarven people and take their prince’s hand. She pictured what she could recall of him, though everything was oddly disjointed and misty, as though her mind was attempting to repress the memories.

Prince Kíli was tall, for a dwarf. Taller, she thought, than his elder brother and of equal height to his uncle, the King –standing possibly just past her chin. His hair was dark and wavy, brushing his collar and hanging roguishly in his eyes. His beard was not overly long, in fact, the effect might have been charming if not for the circumstances, and his shoulders were broad and his build lean. There had been a glint in his dark eyes, a hint of curious wonder, and for a moment her curiosity had also been piqued. He, his family, and people, were not what she had expected. They were fairer, kinder in some ways, and terribly proud in others, but they were not quite the barbarians she had expected.

Her intended was perhaps more handsome than she might have imagined, but it made little difference. They existed worlds and worlds apart. He was a child of stone and metal, and she of sky and starlight. She had watched nearly an age of the world pass, while he had only had a few decades in which to grow and learn.

She pressed her hands to her eyes for a moment, fear threatening to overwhelm her, and rose stiffly to her feet. With a deep breath she drew open the door, startling the guard there. He had a bright red beard, shorter than many she’d seen, and stood just below shoulder height.

“Where are Prince Legolas’s rooms?” she demanded. If her prince would not come to her, she would go to him.

The dwarf swallowed, looking a touch nervous. “I will take you there, my lady.”

Tauriel frowned. “I would rather go alone.”

The dwarf shook his head. “I’m afraid that is not possible, Your Highness, the King has ordered you escorted wherever you might wish to go.”

Irritation itched at the back of her throat but she swallowed it back and nodded. “Very well.”

The dwarf look relieved and even attempted a small smile. “Right, follow me, my lady, it is not far.”

She trailed after him, feeling terribly lost and vulnerable, but forcing herself to make note of each passageway they walked through. The great Dwarven city was indeed impressive. Rich carvings lined every hall and the very floor was engraved with gold and silver deposited in intricate geometric patterns. It was lovely and alien and she squared her shoulders; she could be brave.

Legolas’s rooms were several halls down and to the right and they passed no one but a series of bored looking guards on their way.

“Here we are, my lady, I’ll be waiting for you just down the hall,” her escort said kindly as they stood before a nondescript door of stone and iron. Tauriel paused briefly, considering.

“Thank you… may I ask your name?”

The guard flushed a little and said, “Orí, my lady.”

Tauriel offered him a small smile of her own. “It is nice to meet you, Orí.”

He coughed awkwardly into a gloved fist. “Ah, you as well, Princess. I’ll, ah, be waiting just down the hall for you.”

Tauriel nodded and thanked him, then waited till he was out of sight to knock on Legolas’s door. There was no answering sound from the other side and she feared he was not there, that perhaps he had left Erebor all together.

Finally the handle turned, the door opened, and Legolas stood before her. His eyes went wide and then sad as he took her in.

Tears immediately welled. “Why didn’t you come?” she blurted. “I waited for you, and you did not come.”

Shame swept across his features and he drew her gently into the room, shutting the door behind her. “I am sorry, Tauriel. I was afraid of what I might do or say. It seemed better to stay away…”

Tauriel sniffed, feeling foolish. “I thought perhaps that you were angry with me. Disgusted-“

“Valar, no,” he interrupted vehemently. “ _Never_. I was so furious with Father, with what he has done… I did not trust myself.”

Confused, she shook her head. “Trust yourself in what way?”

He turned from her briefly and then back again, steely determination written on his face. “Come away with me, Tauriel.  We can leave this place, before it is too late.  I will not let my father do this to you.”

“Legolas, that’s madness!” she cried, fraying at the seams.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, though his determination did not falter. “But I can see no other way. Father will not listen to reason and I simply can’t stand by while he forces you to do this.”

Tauriel felt oddly breathless and lightheaded. “Where would we go? What would we do?”

He moved so swiftly that she had no way to prepare herself for the touch of his hands or the press of his lips. Legolas gripped her gently, tilting her head with insistent pressure at the base of her neck and directing her face toward his.

Tauriel had been kissed before, though not often, but she had very little time to process this one beyond _soft, warm, sad_ before it was done and he had released her. Moisture glistened in his eyes. Eyes that were desperate and pleading, his feelings for her were naked on his face. Perhaps they had been for a long time, she’d merely been too preoccupied or scared to notice.  

“It does not matter where we go or if no one will accept us for fear of my father’s wrath. There are many places in Endor and beyond where we might make our own welcome,” he whispered urgently, stepping forward again to wrap her firmly in his arms, pressing her to his chest so that she could feel the rapid beat of his heart.

For a moment, Tauriel could almost see it.

The two of them in some bright, happy place, making a simple but joyful life together far from the old worries that had plagued her for decades and the new ones that threatened to break her apart. For a moment it was almost tangible… and then reality came crashing brutally through the gilded gold and silver.

She saw the darkness in the forest spread, overwhelming her people. She saw the bitter feud that would rage over her betrayal, sparking a war between dwarves and elves, the likes of which had not been seen since the days of Nogrod and Belegost. She saw an evil, foul and terrible, spreading to all corners of Middle-earth, leaving no life untouched, no love unspoiled, and she knew then that she truly had no choice. She saw, as Thranduil certainly had, that here they had a chance for a united alliance against the darkness they could no longer ignore.

With a shuddering breath, she pushed away from Legolas, a cold seeping from her heart and flowing through her veins.

“Legolas… we can’t. If I leave now the dwarves would have every right to wage war on our people, a war which we are ill equipped to fight after nearly a century of battling spiders, orcs, and goblins that seem only to multiply rather than diminish. Since your father appointed me as Captain I have urged him, _pleaded_ with him, to take stronger action against the shadow in the southern wood, to seek aid from others. How can I deny him the means of forming such an alliance?”

Legolas looked at her in shock. “You cannot mean that, Tauriel. What my father has done is pure madness. These dwarves are little more than barbaric, petty, greedy children and I will not abandon you to them.”

Valar help her, his offer was tempting.

As was the deeper promise and meaning that threaded like glittering silver through his words –something that promised more than an arranged marriage among a people she knew nothing about. But a lifetime of selfless sacrifice for her kingdom was not so easily ignored. Through her, Thranduil could nurture a strong and prosperous alliance that might draw her people from the brink of total isolation and impending destruction. Perhaps, because of her, no more of her fellow guards need die to the increasingly overwhelming number of foul things which continued to creep up from the depths.

“I-it will not be forever,” she whispered, seeing the years stretched out before her like a prison sentence or a voluntary penance. “A century at most.”

He stepped away from her as though slapped, a stung look on his face, and he shook his head slowly. “You cannot stay here, Tauriel, they will never accept you. The old grudges run deep and dwarves are not known for their forgiveness.”

A strange sense of fate crept through her, whispering urgently in the back of her mind. “If I can do some good… if I can help our people, I, well, it is my duty to do so. Besides, I cannot be the lever which separates you and your father.”

“I will never forgive him for this,” Legolas snarled with uncharacteristic malevolence. “This plan is utterly foolish, I will not allow you to play into it.”

There was condemnation in his voice and judgment in his eyes. Legolas, who had always been calm, fair, and level-headed, seemed completely undone.  

“Please, Legolas, I cannot do this alone. I _need_ you.”

He came toward her again, grasping her hands in his. The gray of his eyes was deep and endless, drawing her to him in spirit and body. What he offered was a chance at salvation and peace, but that quiet voice whispered that here, now, she had a chance to make the world better. A chance she had waited her whole life for.

His hand reached to cup her cheek, the skin calloused and warm. It would be so easy. Too easy, really.  “Then come away with me, Tauriel,” he urged. “I do not think I can bear to watch you do this.”

She leaned into his space, into everything he was offering for a moment longer, then carefully but determinedly untangled herself from his grasp.

“I’m sorry, Legolas, but Thranduil is right, I have no choice.”

She turned and fled, tears spilling down her face, and she knew the heartbreak in his eyes would stay with her all her long life.

 

* * *

 

Later that day, the Elven princess stood as still as a statue, swathed in sunlight, and Kíli found himself staring.

Her hair was fire and copper, and her gown was a deep green of velvet and satin that clung, once more, to her graceful curves. Everything about her seemed delicate and ethereal, and she looked like a song; too picturesque to be real.

“It is not polite to stare, _dwarf_ ,” she said, not turning, and her voice was hard.

Kíli felt color rise to his cheeks and he frowned, annoyed once more by circumstance. He squared his shoulders and stepped into the room, reminding himself that he was a son of Durin and he was not intimidated by some fragile looking she-elf who’d likely be blown away by a strong wind.

“They thought it best we spend a few moments alone before the, ah, announcement,” he said gruffly, stalking toward her. Balin had insisted, claiming he would ensure that Nori cut off his spending allowance if he did not, showing a shrewd understanding to gaining Kili’s obedience - threatening his ability to visit the taverns.

As he approached, she turned and lifted her chin to gaze down on him, the gems on her brow blazing in the sunlight. Her eyes were aloof and impervious, and he thought she might as well have been made of stone.

Kíli had no true understanding of Elven mating rituals or customs, though he’d heard that children were increasingly rare, and he thought it quite possible that they did not even couple as dwarves and men did. Perhaps their children really sprang from trees like overly ripe fruit, just as his tutor had once joked. His heart sank at the thought, despite its absurdity. In truth, he had never given much thought to marriage beyond that he’d likely be required to do so someday–to some bonny Dwarven lass of noble birth—and he’d thought it might, perhaps, be… nice. His mother had certainly cared for his father despite their match being an arranged one.

There was no warmth in the elf-maid’s eyes, only cold, distant light, far beyond his reach.

“You are Kíli, the youngest nephew of the King and your elder brother, Fíli, will someday take his place. You are considered reckless and irresponsible by your uncle and many of his advisors, though many also find you charming and intelligent, in your way. You frequent taverns and brothels nearly as often as you train with the guard and have always skirted your duties and lessons. As of last Durin’s Day, you were seventy-seven years old,” her voice was calm, precise, and her words were wielded like finely sharpened knives. For a brief moment he saw the true depth of her disgust for him. “There is nothing we need to discuss.”

Finished with her criticism, she turned her face from him again, and looked out once more to the clear sky beyond. Kíli found he’d been holding his breath and the one he drew ached in his lungs.

“I will do my duty by my King and kingdom,” he said, oddly dejected, “but know that I relish it as much as you. If you stay out of my way, Princess, I will stay out of yours-“

“Do not call me that,” she hissed, surprising him.

He felt his temper pricked. “What would you have me call you then?”

A short silence and for a brief moment he thought he caught a hint of nervous uncertainty. “My lady will do,” she said finally, as though she had intended to say something else, and her voice was quiet and almost mournful.

He managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes, wondering if it was yet another strange custom he didn’t understand, and moved away to pour himself a goblet of wine. He drained one and then another in quick succession, but hesitated over the third, glancing back at her over his shoulder. She had not moved, still staring out the balcony doors. He realized suddenly that she was facing southwest, toward Mirkwood, and a pang of guilt plagued him. Though his life had certainly be flipped upside down, he was, at least, not being forced to live among a foreign people far from home.

He filled his wine glass again and then filled another.

“Here,” he said, gruffer than he might have intended, and extended one cup toward her. “It will help.”

She looked at him with an expression bordering on hostility for a long moment before taking the proffered goblet with long, pale fingers which were very careful not to brush his accidentally.         

“Thank you,” she mumbled, lifting it to her lips.

“To new beginnings,” he said sardonically, echoing the words his uncle had spoken the day before, then took a hearty swallow, welcoming the creeping dullness of his senses.

A knock sounded and Balin stuck his graying head within, looking harried. “Your uncle wishes to speak with you, lad,” he said, glancing pointedly between them.

Kíli tipped his head back, quickly draining the contents of his cup and tossing it toward a well cushioned couch. “I am at the King’s mercy,” he simpered and chanced a glance back at the Elven princess.

She stood watching him, goblet suspended loosely in her fingers, but her expression was impossible to read. Or perhaps he merely didn’t wish to admit to himself that, whatever the circumstances, he pitied her.

He shook his head and followed Balin down the corridor plagued by the notion that he ought to have said more, coupled with the certainty that there was nothing he could say.

Things progressed rather quickly after his meeting with Thorin, which had been brief and amounted to mostly rehashing what would happen during the formal announcement of his pending nuptials. Apparently he would be required merely to take the princess’s hand and smile at the appropriate moments. Later, at the feast, they would sit near one another and appear amicable and polite. He was not to drink to excess or he would suffer dire consequences.  

He felt rather sick.

And before he knew it, he was standing in a small audience chamber bedecked in finery even heavier and more ostentatious than the day before. His cloak alone likely weighed three stone, and the train stretched regally behind him in a sea of deep blue edged in white fur. His brow was bare, ready for a new, heavier crown to take its place.  

Since his uncle had announced that he meant to formally proclaim him and Fíli as his heirs, he had dreaded this moment. With the impending doom of his engagement looming over him, that dread had turned to a near state of horror.

Fíli took him by the shoulder and Kíli mirrored the action until their foreheads met.

“I am with you, brother,” Fíli said with quiet sincerity. “Whatever happens.”

“Whatever happens,” Kíli echoed, though inside he raged. His desire to flee mounted, but his brother held him fast.

“All will turn out right, you’ll see,” he said, drawing away. “Just get through today, Kee, and we’ll deal with it after.”

He pulled a shaky smile. “Right, I think I can manage to keep it together for a few hours at least.”

Fíli chuckled and gave him an odd look.

“What is it?” he asked, a little afraid of the answer.

His brother was a rather flushed as he said. “At least -well, at least, she’s not hard on the eyes, if you, ah, know what I mean.”

It was Kíli’s turn to go a bit red about the ears, and he said gruffly to his boots, “Too tall and pale for my tastes. I like a lass with meat on her bones and a bit more hair on her face.” The princess’s countenance swam unbidden in his mind, and he shoved it pointedly way.

“Ah, right, of course,” Fíli agreed awkwardly, and they were both saved by Dwalin’s sudden appearance.

The balding and tattooed dwarf looked furious and intimidating in his own set of armor, though his was designed for purpose and use as the official protector of the King and crown. Where Balin had inherited much of the brains, Dwalin had inherited the brawn. There was no fiercer warrior in all of Erebor.

“I still can’t believe it, lad,” his old weapon’s master lamented. “I’ve tried to reason with him o’course, but he won’t have it. Keeps going on about all the things that Elven nancy has promised in return.”

“Dwalin, Dwalin, you’re not helping,” Fíli interrupted, glancing nervously over at him.

The older dwarf frowned, then looked uncomfortable. “Ah, right. Sorry, might have gotten a bit carried away, suppose there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“Is the King ready for us, then?” Fíli pressed while Kíli paced, wringing his hands as he tried to contain his near utter panic. Mahal, he was nervous. How would the people react? And what of her? The princess?

He could still see her, watching him from the balcony in her room, the sunlight shining from behind her to cast her head in a halo of flames.

Dwalin hesitated, watching Kíli for a moment. “Aye… all is prepared, they only await you two.”

Together they left the room. Kíli’s leaden feet barely able to move, but somehow they kept propelling him forward.

It was much like the night before: his mother and uncle awaited them in the royal foyer. His mother’s eyes glinted with hurt and longing, but Kíli looked quickly away. Guilt for his words gnawed at him, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to take them back, not yet. Not when he stood so close to the precipice.

Thorin, as usual, looked stern. “Do you remember your lines?” he demanded.

“Yes, Uncle,” Kíli said, praying his tone was neutral, betraying none of his mutinous thoughts.

“Good, we cannot know how the people will react, so be prepared and keep calm. Let me do all of the talking, understand?”

“Yes, Uncle,” he parroted again.  

“Perhaps, we should wait-“ Fíli attempted, stepping forward.

“No more objections, Fíli. Focus now, today is not only momentous for Kíli, but for you as well. One day you will be king and you too will have to make difficult decisions for the good of our people,” Thorin said sternly, and Kíli could see the fight dying in Fíli eyes, his last hope extinguished.

“Of course, I am sorry to question you, Uncle.”

“Good, let us get this over with,” he said and fixed Kíli with a hard, warning stare, then spun on his heel and entered the throne room. Kíli could hear the buzz of excited voices and the gentle hum of instruments and song.

He could do this. He could do this.

He didn’t have any other choice.

“Kíli…” his mother pleaded when they were briefly alone, reaching for him with grasping fingers and he stepped away from her.

“Don’t… don’t touch me. I can’t deal with this right now.”

Again the pain was plain in her eyes, but also a broken understanding. Tears stood in her eyes and she gave him a sad sort of smile.

“I love you, my son. Remember that… in the days to come,” she whispered, then stepped past him and into the light of the hall, shoulders back and head held high.

* * *

 

Tauriel tried to hide the trembling of her hands in the folds of her gown, staring straight ahead, hardly aware of her surroundings.

Thranduil stood at her side just below the steps of the throne, still and unaffected, but Legolas had refused to attend the ceremony and the space to her right remained vacant and cold. She missed the comfort and ease of his presence, the way things had been prior to everything that now lay between them. He had been her closest friend and ally all her life, her confidante in all things and her teacher in many more. His abandonment now left a sea of sorrow within her and it threatened to drown her.

Everything had changed so quickly, leaving her reeling and fighting for a foothold, some frame of understanding. She missed the feel of a knife in her hand, the touch of the wind and the sound of the leaves in the trees she had known all her life. Clad in a gown and jewels, she felt vulnerable and weak. Pressing her eyes briefly closed, she centered herself, forcing her mind into some state of calm. To panic now would shame them all.

She had thought little of marriages or weddings. The world had seemed too dark and dangerous for such thoughts. Since the moment her parents had lain hewn on the ground, slaughtered by orcs, her heart had turned toward vengeance and action. She had lived her life with only a single thought; to protect her people at whatever cost. Somehow death had seemed less high of a price than the one she faced now.

 _Courage, now_ , an inner voice whispered, _do not let them see your fear._

King Thorin entered the room and an orchestra, situated somewhere above, took up a rather haunting but regal tune. The Dwarven King was fierce in countenance and noble in brow but an anger brewed in the back of his gaze and a snarl curled too easily at his lips. His eldest nephew, Prince Fíli followed after, golden and fair as his uncle, mother, and brother were dark and brooding. He smiled at it showed warm and true in his eyes.

Princess Dís strode gracefully after in a rich golden gown, her dark hair woven intricately with threads of silver and many precious gems, her presence and confidence equal to her brother’s.

Kíli came last, trailing behind, and a frown was set deeply into his face for a moment before he fixed an uneasy smile in its place. He looked well, clad in gleaming armor and flowing cloak with his inky hair combed and braided with beads that glinted in the sunlight.

His eyes, deep and dark, found hers for a brief timeless moment, before he took his seat at his brother’s side. Her heart was a wild drum in her chest and her fists clenched in her gown. Valar, give her strength, let her not disgrace herself.

King Thorin raised a hand and the music faded and the chatter died.

“My people,” he cried, voice booming down the length of the hall, “today is indeed a momentous occasion. Mahal has blessed my sister and our line with two strong, brave sons of Durin who are both worthy and able to guide our people in the age to come.”

Cheers rang briefly, and the Dwarven King smiled before again raising a hand for silence.

“Fíli, son of Finor and Dís, Prince of Erebor and son of Durin, step forward.”

A hush fell, and the golden prince squared his shoulders and stood before his uncle. King Thorin turned and his steward, Balin, handed him a large tiered crown of what could only be mithril and gold.

“Kneel,” the King boomed, and the young dwarf obeyed. The sunlight shone on the prince’s face and she felt that same touch of destiny, of fate, and she wondered at the turning of the world.  

The words he spoke next were guttural and harsh and made no sense to Tauriel at all, but she watched transfixed nonetheless. Thorin’s words rang out, pitched high and loud, and the crowd around them cheered and hollered as the crown was lowered onto Fíli’s head. She glanced at Thranduil and found he looked decidedly bored, examining the nails on one hand.

“Kíli, son of Finor and Dís,” Thorin said, Fíli standing proud and tearful at his side, “Prince of Erebor and son of Durin, step forward.”

Tauriel watched her betrothed intensely. Noting the tick in his jaw, the clench of his fists, and the momentary flash of fear and dread in his eyes. This was not just about her and their impending marriage; no, this reluctance stemmed deeper. There was darkness and grief among the royal family, secrets and hurts that lay just below the surface, and in Kíli they threatened to boil over.

She realized suddenly that while their time together would be but a short span in the long stretch of her life, the young prince would be doomed to spend all his days with a woman he did not love, of a people he did not trust.

As his uncle bellowed words in the tongue she did not understand, she felt a terrible wash of pity and guilt. As the crown, smaller but still resplendent, was set upon his brow she could almost see the physical weight it bore on his broad shoulders. Whatever her sacrifice, she realized, it did not compare to his, and her heart softened almost despite herself.

She blinked, dazed, and realized the time had all but come. Her heart fell into her gut and her knees trembled.

“And now, in this time of great joy. I have several announcements to make,” King Thorin said, the smile still fixed on his face, and motioned for Thranduil with a slight bow.

With a long drawn sigh, her King made for the steps where Thorin met him halfway. Together they clasped arms in a show of amity that looked perhaps a little forced, but the crowd cheered again nonetheless.

“The Elvenking of Mirkwood and I have reached an alliance that will prove of great benefit to both of our peoples. And to truly honor this, we are pleased to announce the betrothal of his daughter, Princess Tauriel, and my nephew, Prince Kíli.”

Stunned silence followed her as she drew leaden feet forward and up the steps. She felt detached, afloat, as she lifted her skirt, praying she would not trip and thought of Legolas’s words in the palace before they had departed.

_“Promise you won’t let me fall?”_

_“Always."_

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Kíli came to his uncle’s side also and, slowly, reluctantly, he extended his hand toward her. She focused on it, let it guide her forward, and placed her own within it, watching as his broad fingers caged over hers. Warmth bled from his palm to hers and she found that she could breathe again.

A smattering of applause turned to a wave of cheer, though the tone of discontent lingered in the faces of those below her and she swallowed. Though she felt tears prick and her legs still trembled, she forced a smile.

“We’ve one more happy announcement before we may feast and dance,” King Thorin said and she heard him as though under deep water. Only Kíli’s hand in hers kept her anchored to reality, though she feared to look at him in case the same disgust she had seen earlier lingered.

“My cousin, Lord Dain of the Iron Hills, and my dear sister, Princess Dís, have agreed to unite our two families and kingdoms through marriage.”

Kíli’s hand tightened around hers so forcefully that she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pain as the burly, red haired dwarf strode forward beaming to a much more sincere round of cheers. Tauriel glanced toward her betrothed, no longer quite able to help herself, and saw the naked shock in his eyes.  

Princess Dís stepped around them and down the steps, eyes focused resolutely ahead, but in them a deep and reluctant revulsion shone as Lord Dain took her hand and lifted it high above his head as though claiming some sort of victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to see the scene from the previous chapter where Kili and Tauriel discover they are engaged, check out this drawing by the lovely Irrel:
> 
> http://irrel.tumblr.com/image/134908316312 
> 
> Its super cute! Thoughts anyone? Questions? And as always, you can find me on Tumblr.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili and Tauriel share a dance as events transpire beyond their control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this was a tough one. Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews and support, seriously, this fandom is amazing. Thanks again to misscity for her wonderful betaing and hope everyone has a great New Years. I'll catch you nerds in 2016.

**Beneath Stone and Sky**

**Chapter Three**

_In Which Dates are Set and Notes are Left Behind_

\-----  


_Sometimes you look up and there just seems to be so many more stars than ever before. More. They burn brighter and they shine longer and they never vanish into your periphery when you turn your head. It’s as if they come out for us and to remind us that their light took so long to come to us, that if we never had the patience to wait, we never could have seen them here, tonight, like this._

_That as much as it hurts, sometimes it’s all you can do, wait, endure and keep shining knowing that eventually, your light will reach where it is supposed to reach and shine for who it is supposed to shine for._

_It is never easy, but it is always worth it_.

_-By Tyler Knott Gregson_

* * *

 

Tauriel sipped her wine and watched her betrothed from the corner of her eye.

Kíli glared down the high table where his mother and Lord Dain sat near King Bard and his family. The Dwarven Princess was looking decidedly down at her plate while her soon-to-be husband drank heartily and laughed merrily with his son and several of his men. All was lively and eager across the hall, but at the head of the table it was tense silence and awkward exchanges.

Tauriel, however, found that she rather admired Thorin’s ability to deflect people’s concerns with a clearly popular marriage arrangement after announcing one that was, well, _not_ so popular. It was cleverly done, yet Kíli and his brother both appeared deeply troubled, though the Crown Prince was at least attempting to hide it.

Kíli hadn’t spoken to her since they’d left the hall, eyes dark and brooding, and she felt oddly ashamed. She knew that he did not want to marry her any more than she wanted to marry him, but the total lack of communication was wearing on her nerves.

Many eyes pressed upon her only to dart away when she glanced in their direction.

“You did well, lass,” Balin said suddenly, coming to sit in the empty chair to her right. Kíli sat to her left, the king after him, followed by Prince Fíli. Thranduil sat across from them, down the long table, talking quietly with his councilors and largely ignoring her. Again, she wished Legolas had attended, but knew she was on her own.

She smiled a little and bowed her head. “It was a lovely ceremony, though I did not understand all of it.”

“Under the circumstances, perhaps we could arrange lessons in Khuzdul for you, though I must gain permission from the King,” the older dwarf said and was all kind smiles. Her heart latched to that smile, desperate for even some small kindness, some reprieve from hard stares and whispered words.

“I… would be honored, Lord Balin.” The dwarves held their language very dear indeed and the earlier ceremony was the first time she’d ever clearly heard them use it. The tones were guttural and harsh, very unlike the tongue of her people, but with a sort of passionate charm, as though everything said held deep meaning.

Balin leaned toward her and his expression was full of empathy. “Don’t take Kíli’s behavior to heart, lass. He’s a good lad, it’ll just take some time for him to grow accustomed to the idea.” He patted her hand as though she were a young, frightened child, before pulling away.

She nodded, embarrassed, and quietly hoped he was right. The entire situation would be much improved if her betrothed would make more attempts at civility. She felt a draw to the young prince, a muted sense of kinship –the two of them both casted unwittingly into a situation beyond their control. Perhaps, under all the uneasiness, he felt the same.

A lively tune began and excited couples tugged one another toward the dance floor set before the high table. The hall was large and beautifully decorated, with flowers and tapestries, fine hangings, cheery fires, and mounds of food, which Tauriel merely picked at. Green things were few and far between and she’d never had a particularly strong palate for red meats.

“May I have this dance, my lady?” a kind voice inquired, and she turned, surprised, to find Prince Fíli extending his hand to her.

She glanced at Kíli, who had also turned to his brother in surprise, before tentatively placing her hand in his. “I’m afraid I don’t know the steps.” It was as close to a refusal as etiquette would allow, but she hoped he might spare her.

The Crown Prince smiled, and it was warm. “Fear not, I am a terrible dancer, we’ll do well.”

Tauriel laughed a little despite herself, once again relieved by a simple act of kindness, and allowed him to pull her from her chair. Just one dance couldn’t hurt, she reasoned.

Prince Fíli stood just above her shoulder height but, like all his people, made up for this in bulk and strength; his hand was broad and thickly callused against hers. He, too, was handsome, his features fair and kind, his blue eyes lively and honest. Here, she thought, was a being worthy of trust that lacked his uncle’s hostility and his brother’s temper. Or so she hoped.

She could feel many eyes upon her, but her partner seemed nonplussed and drew her happily into the dance. He moved slowly at first, letting her catch the steps, which involved a bit more hopping about than she was used to, but before she knew it... she was quite enjoying herself. The song and steps were invigorating, simple enough, and much different than the lilting tunes and graceful dances of her own people, which took a great deal of practice.

Her partner spun her during a turn, forcing him to stand on tip-toe and for her to bend at the knee, but they managed well enough, and both laughed at their success. For a few precious moments, she was able to forget her worries.

Then the music slowed and stopped, and the prince pointed behind her with an odd smile.

She turned to find her betrothed standing before her, hand extended and eyes shadowed. Where his brother was light and warmth, Prince Kili was cool darkness.

“May I have the next dance, my lady?”

* * *

The she-elf hesitated as the music shifted and changed to something slower, softer. Her face was flushed with exertion and her chest rose with each quick breath she drew.

Kíli found himself momentarily distracted from the torment in his heart by the sight of her.

From the high table he had watched her dance with surprise and growing interest, a sentiment that was obviously shared by many of those gathered. As she spun, hair and skirts fanning becomingly about her, that interest had turned toward enjoyment.

His brother, Kíli thought, could be as cunning and clever as their uncle when he wished to be.

She had moved gracefully and with a quiet sort of joy he had not expected. As the song had come close to its end, Thorin had nudged him meaningfully.

“You would do well to dance at least once with her, nephew,” he warned gruffly, before turning to mutter something to Dwalin.

So here he was, hand extended, feeling increasingly foolish.

“I would be honored… my lord,” the princess said at last, and put her hand so lightly in his it might have been a gust of wind but for the warmth. Her touch, however light, caused his pulse to quicken and he frowned in response.

She was silent as Fíli took his leave with a low bow and a knowing glance at his younger brother. Kíli drew her toward the floor where the other couples had already begun to dance. He had always preferred livelier, more upbeat tunes, and this one was almost mournful -and it required that he hold his partner closer than most- but it seemed oddly… fitting.

The princess placed her hand on his shoulder, he hesitantly took her waist, and suddenly there was not quite enough air in the room, as though she had somehow robbed him of it. The few times they had met and spoken she had seemed aloof and cold, but now the heat of her through her gown was almost overwhelming, and he had to force his fingers not to clench against her reflexively.

The desire to draw that warmth closer to him was almost primal and his brother’s words echoed back at him mockingly.   

_“At least -well, at least, she’s not hard on the eyes, if you, ah, know what I mean.”_

And he’d been right, damn him. A part of Kili had known it then, but he was finding it increasingly harder to ignore now.

The smoothness of her skin was even more apparent up close, near to perfection as he followed the line of her jaw, down a long neck, to her chest that rose and fell invitingly beneath the silk of her dress. Her hair glimmered, flame colored and deep, and she smelled of trees with a hint of lavender, like fresh air and far off places.

With a sudden clarity he realized that, at least physically, he wanted her- badly.

She wasn’t quite looking at him, having the benefit of being able to see over his head, but he caught the pink of her cheeks and the darting glances. He could feel her nervousness; could feel it in the grasp of her fingers and the tremble of her body when the dance required that he spin her out, then pull her close once more, their bodies brushing. There was a ripple of longing that hummed along a thread between them, quiet but insistent.

Only moments ago he’d been tormented by his mother’s engagement, now he could hardly recall why he’d been upset at all. In truth, he’d momentarily forgotten anyone but her and the glide of her body beneath his hands.

His height put him nearly eye level with her pulse point and he could see it leaping beneath the skin, faster than the pace of the dance accounted for. Her reaction made heat dance across his body, struck by the idea that she might be as affected as he, and he found himself admiring her lips in a way that was boldly inappropriate. They were plush, pink, and slightly moist, and just as he began to wonder what they might taste like, the song ended and she stepped quickly away.

Just like that, whatever spell she’d held over him was broken and he drew a harsh, cleansing breath. She, too, seemed perturbed, though she was not looking at him, but over his shoulder.

Kíli glanced back and caught sight of the Elven Prince standing on the stairs that led into the hall. The look on his face was full of grief and Kíli understood then that the elf prince’s anger had not been about propriety or tradition, but something much closer to the heart.

A group of chatting dwarves moved up the steps and the Elven Prince was gone once they’d passed, as if he had never been there at all.

* * *

Tauriel felt her heart leap into her throat at the sight of Legolas staring down at her, the warmth of the dance fading into a terrible chill.

He looked distraught, perhaps betrayed, and shame filled her. Some part of her had known that she and the Dwarven Prince had been dancing perhaps a bit closer than necessary, but she’d been caught in the haunting tune and the easy, fluid steps. A dark voice whispered that perhaps she’d also been caught in Kíli’s hot stares and wide, firm hands, but she ignored it.

She took an unconscious step forward, as if to go after Legolas, but then he was gone. Blinking, disoriented, and oddly dizzy, she turned back to the young prince, whose eyes were guarded and his face neutral.

“I’ll escort you back to your seat,” he said tonelessly and took her hand without waiting for a response.

Was this her destiny? She wondered as he tugged her along, to always be surrounded but to feel constantly alone?

After returning her to her seat, her betrothed departed to mingle with friends and kin. He did not look at her or speak to her for the rest of the evening. No one did, and despair began to fester within her.

The following morning, Tauriel rose with the dawn, eyes puffy and red from crying and too little sleep. Legolas had ignored her pleading knocks on his door after the banquet and had not come to see her, though she’d waited up for him most of the night.

The maid they’d assigned to her, Hilde, awaited her in the adjoining chamber and clucked her tongue at the sight of her.

“Poor dear,” the woman said kindly. Hilde was large and rounded like many dwarven women, with dark brown hair, and a wispy beard which was braided intricately.  “Come have a seat and I’ll bring you some tea.”

Feeling like a foolish child, but still appreciating the gesture, Tauriel sat. “Thank you,” she said. “Would you mind opening the balcony doors?”

“It’s a bit chilly out, but alright,” the woman replied, and opened the doors, then left to get her tea.

It _was_ cold, but Tauriel didn’t mind, leaning back in the well-padded arm chair and closing her eyes. She breathed in the frozen air, tasting of winter and night, letting the sorrow seep out of her. Sleep could cure many pains, but the wound in her heart would not heal easily. But she felt as one always did after a good, long cry that had been repressed for far too long; drained, weightless, and new. At the bottom of every well of sadness there was a hint of hope and that was what she clung to in the cold light of a winter morning.

Hilde returned a while later carrying a tea set and a small wooden box. Tauriel watched as the woman dutifully made her tea, then presented her with the box, a smile pressed down between her thin lips. Tauriel took the box with a frown and flipped the latch. Within lay eight sets of beautifully crafted jeweled beads. Each set contained six individual beads and they glittered up at her invitingly.  

“Engagement beads, from the royal treasury,” the maid told her, eyes shining at the sight of them. “A gift from the prince.”

Tauriel looked up in surprise. “Prince Kíli?”

The woman smiled as if she were amused. “Aye, who else?”

It seemed an oddly… intimate gesture considering they had hardly spoken more than a few words to one another. Unbidden, she recalled the delicious hot press of his hands through her dress and the dark pressure of his eyes through locks of unruly hair. He had made her skin tingle with a foreign sensitivity, then left her bereft and forgotten. It had frightened her as much as it had thrilled her, and part of her had been grateful that he’d avoided her for the rest of the evening despite how lonely she had felt.

Biting her lip to suppress a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold, she pulled out a bead made of mithril and pale sapphire.

“You’ve a dress to match,” her maid said, and dutifully went to retrieve it. Tauriel who had never before worn gowns save for rare special events, let loose a small sigh of exasperation. She missed her trousers and tunics as much as she missed her bow and her blades.

She set the beads aside and sipped her tea for several peaceful minutes, wondering idly what the day might hold for her. King Thorin had promised a tour for her and Thranduil, something she’d actually looked forward to, but there was no telling when or if the Dwarven King intended to follow through. She felt like a bit of stray thread that no one had bothered to snip or tuck away.

Hilde returned and Tauriel allowed the woman to help her dress in the yards of silk and chiffon.

“Such light, airy material, so different from our own gowns,” the woman said, rubbing a bit of Tauriel’s dress sleeve between her fingers. Beneath the canopy of ancient trees, winter’s grasp had rarely taken hold, but beneath the mountain there was a chill that never quite left, no matter how many fires burned.

The thought gave Tauriel pause. “Do you think it might be possible to get dwarven style gowns made for me?”

Hilde hesitated, and Tauriel was certain she had said something wrong, offending her in someway, but before she could apologize the other woman was smiling. “I think that is a lovely idea, Your Highness. Any tailor in Erebor would be honored to outfit you in the garb of our people.”

Clearly excited now, Hilde, who did not even reach Tauriel’s shoulder, pressed her toward a vanity chair. “Speaking of customs, let us braid your hair.”

She hurried into the next room and was back a second later carrying the wooden box. “Now I doubt anyone has taken the time to explain the significance of the way we dwarves braid our hair and beards with beads and such, but let me give you a brief lesson.”

Setting the box on the vanity, Hilde lifted one of her own braids that hung down across  her chest. Tauriel had seen many of similar design during her brief stay. “This braid denotes one’s marital status, one bead indicates that the lad or lass is unattached,” she showed Tauriel her own plain gold bead at the base of her long braid, then drew her fingers up midway. “Two indicates engagement or attachment, and the third tells of sanctioned union,” she finished, touching the bead that hung at chin level with a sort of fond reverence.

With gentle hands, she angled Tauriel’s face toward a silver mirror that offered her a murky reflection.

“As a princess of the royal house there are several styles that are available only to you and will become very important after your marriage,” she explained, lifting and fanning out the fall of Tauriel’s hair, and she tried to ignore the way her stomach churned at the word ‘marriage’.

“Our braids often express things like peace and war, love and sadness, joy and anger, or such things as deference to one clan or another. The people will look to you and know your heart by the braids in your hair. There are, of course, other symbolisms reserved for beards, but, well, that is hardly of concern for you.”

Tauriel, oddly self-conscious, touched her bare face and Hilde smiled. “Do not worry, Princess. You will have those to help and guide you.”

Touched, she glanced down. “Thank you… I’m afraid I do not know much of your people or customs.”

“All will come in time, my lady. For now, let me fix your hair a little.”

Tauriel sat quietly and let Hilde work, her thick, deft fingers threading together chunks of hair on either side, near her ears, and expertly working the beads into place, two on either side. They felt heavy and foreign against her skin through the cloth of her gown. Then Hilde went to work on a series of elaborate weaves, stringing many braids together and pinning them into place at the back of her head so only half her hair hung free, which she then gather into a loose tail and clasped with a light silvery cuff.

Tauriel, turning her head for one side to the other, found she liked the effect and smiled at Hilde in the mirror.

“What do these represent?” she asked tentatively, touching one particularly complex section of her hair..

“Change, Your Highness,” Hilde answered quietly, her words almost prophetic in their weight, and a knock sounded on the door.

Hilde, frowning, went to answer it and Tauriel could hear the low exchange of a language she did not understand. Dreamlike, she touched one of the beads in her hair and it was cool to the touch. Another flash of dark, heated eyes and wide hands and she lowered her own, shaking the image away.

When she returned, Hilde looked rather pale. “The Princess Dís has requested your presence in the royal baths.”

* * *

Kíli’s rooms were disorganized and cluttered.

Clothes, weapons, maps, scrolls, books, and trinkets lay strewn across floors and furniture and no amount of interference by the servants had ever been able to curb the youngest prince’s tenacity for chaos.

His chambers were the one place in Erebor Kili had ever felt like he had some control over his own life and future. Here his uncle could not dictate what he read or studied or thought or did. As a boy, especially after his father had died, he’d spent hours and hours locked away reading stories of heroes and adventures in faraway places or practicing his sword work as he grew older. Sometimes he’d play chess with Fíli or Dwalin or listen to the stories Bofur told of his years in Ered Luin.

But it was no longer quite the solace it once had been. Reality and duty were closing in on him more and more every day, weighing down on him from all sides. He knew that familiar stone walls could no longer hold his fate at bay.

There was a light knock on the door that led from his study into the hall and Kíli pulled himself away from his chair near the hearth where he’d been sitting for the better part of the morning brooding. His mother had refused to speak to him at the feast the night before and had not been in her rooms when he had stormed down to them at dawn. Fíli had been swept up with the king in state business and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go down to the training yards or even the taverns. So he’d sat and sulked, wondering at how quickly life could change.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he opened the door to a harried looking Balin. The elderly diplomat did not wait for an invitation, but stepped quickly inside.

“I’ve sent Princess Tauriel the royal engagement beads in your name,” he said by way of greeting and began pilfering through the disaster that was his desk.

Kíli frowned and flushed. He’d nearly forgotten his bride-to-be in his wallowing self-pity, but could suddenly recall the glide of her body between his hands and the bright fall of her hair. “Isn’t that a bit… forward?”

Balin snorted, still shuffling through crinkled scrolls and broken quills. “Hardly. The sooner she acclimates to our customs the better, and wearing the beads ought to offer her a bit of protection against the more tenacious of nay-sayers.”

“Balin, did you know?” Kíli demanded suddenly. “Did you know about my mother and Lord Dain?”

Balin froze and straightened, face troubled and he couldn’t quite meet his eye. “Aye… aye I did.”

Kíli growled, anger swift and hot inside him. “This family is built on nothing but secrets and lies it seems.”

“Now, lad,” Balin said calmly. “Your uncle has his reasons for keeping it from you. The alliance is a tentative and important one. He had to be sure of it.”

“Is that why he failed to mention my own engagement?” Kíli snapped.  

Balin nodded gravely. “Aye, I would imagine so.”

“He has clearly lost his mind,” Kili fumed, pacing away.

“That’s enough of that now, lad,” Balin commanded in a sharp tone. “Your uncle is King and what he does, he does for the betterment of our kingdom. We needed a way to placate Dain, and we have found it. Your mother is as wise, crafty, and brave as your uncle and she can take care of herself. She agreed to the arrangement. Thorin would never have forced her, so you will have to respect their decision.”

Balin’s expression softened and he moved to grip Kíli by the shoulder. “Plans are in motion now that cannot be stopped. You’ve always been a smart lad, but you’ve kept your head out of politics too long to question these things now-“

Kíli groaned and rolled his eyes. The old dwarf was beginning to sound like Fíli. “Well, of course, I can bloody well question things that directly affect my _life,_ Balin. Mahal’s balls, I’m being forced to marry an elf who was born before my _great_ grandfather.”

Balin sighed and let his hand drop, shaking his head. “Surely you understand that this arrangement affects more than just _you,_ Kíli. Erebor is not the power it once was. Our trade and influence dwindle and darkness is growing in all directions. You have a duty to your people to help them, to protect them-“

“I did not ask for this life!” Kíli cried. “I did not ask to be born a prince. I would rather be a poor beggar on the streets of the lower circle than a bloody Prince of Erebor. At least a beggar has some freedom. Some _choice_.”

Balin barked out a laugh that held little humor. “Perhaps such circumstance would humble you if you truly believe starvation and desperation breeds freedom. You were born into privilege, Your _Highness_ , and for that you must work for the lesser man.”

Kíli opened his mouth to retort but Balin shook his head sharply. “No more, lad. I didn’t come here to argue with you. I came in search of the scroll you borrowed from Nori, the one on the building of the middle halls. They’re in need of some renovation and I’d like to peruse Veron’s writings on the subject.”

Kíli bristled but said, “It’s there, on the mantle.”

Balin grabbed the thick tome and made to leave, but hesitated for a moment at the threshold before turning back to him. “You’re a good, brave lad,” he said seriously. “Don’t let pride cloud your vision. You may find your greatest ally in all this is your future bride. She’s a smart lass, that much is clear, and I believe there is more to her than meets the eye.”

Kíli glared at the space where the old dwarf had stood for a long while before striding out of the room.

* * *

The royal baths were deep below the royal wing of the main halls.

The guard, Orí, escorted Tauriel and Hilde to the lift that would lower them –using steam and intricate mechanisms- to the hot springs.

“I’m not permitted to descend further, but they’ve a guard posted below,” Orí informed them and Tauriel lifted a brow.

“In case I try to escape through some tunnel or attempt to attack someone?” she asked, not quite able keep the cynicism out of her voice. She knew it wasn’t Orí’s fault that he was forced to follow her about wherever she went, but it still grated on the nerves.

Orí, for his part, gave her a lopsided smile. “I have a feeling a few guards wouldn’t stand a chance against you, Your Highness, should you put your mind to it.”

He winked and she flushed as he held the door of the gilded lift open for her and Hilde.

“The signs are there for those who are willing to look for ‘em, my lady,” he whispered as an explanation and glanced briefly at the hand which she’d  braced on the side of the door. Her fingers held evidence of her many years of combat and training.

It was an old hurt that ran deep along the fault lines of her soul. She had never been considered terribly feminine or beautiful among her people, too violent and physical to be anything else, but she forced a smile and Orí shut the gate after them and pulled a large lever.

Down they went, silent and detached as Tauriel looked up to watch the faint light recede, only a single torch in its grate illuminating the glistening walls as they fell away. She could smell the hot springs long before they reached the bottom, something sulphuric and vaguely medicinal that seemed to creep into and clear her lungs and head. She already felt more relaxed despite herself.

With a slight jar, and the grinding of metal against metal, the lift slowed and stopped, an armored guard stepped forward to open the gate.

“The princess is awaiting us,” Hilde said quickly, the guard glaring at Tauriel suspiciously.

A tense moment of speculation, but then the guard nodded, shocking her by saying in a woman’s voice, “Very well, proceed down the hall, the princess is in the first pool.”

Hilde bowed and smiled. “Thank you,” she said and urged Tauriel forward. She was oddly pleased, inspired even, to discover that at least some dwarven women served a more martial role. Perhaps she would find kindred spirits after all.

Hilde held the door open for her and a small room lined with benches and supplied with towels and robes greeted them. The room was wood paneled and peaceful, smelling of earth and clean things. Hilde shut the door and fetched a robe.  

“You’ll need to undress, my lady, this robe ought to be long enough for you,” the dwarf said cheerfully and Tauriel hesitantly pulled at the laces holding the top of her dress together and removed the tie about her waist.

Removing her undergarments, with one arm crossed awkwardly over her breasts, she took the proffered robe and slipped it over her arms and shoulders. The sleeves reached just past her elbows and the hem reached her mid-thigh. Tauriel flushed deeply.

Hilde grinned and quickly hid it behind her hand. “Now don’t look like that, dear. We’ll have a few robes made for you special. This shall do for now, however, it’s not as though you’ll be wearing it long.”

Tauriel swallowed thickly. “Wha-“ she squeaked, but Hilde didn’t appear to hear and began to guide her toward a small door.

"Hurry now, I’ll wait for you here. The princess is a kind woman, but she can be hard and she can be cunning, so speak your heart and show respect.”

“Yes, but-“ Tauriel tried again, but Hilde had opened the door and pushed her gently through it, shutting it decidedly behind her. She was on her own once again.  

The heat within instantly slickened her skin, pasting her hair and robe tightly to her body as she fought to see through the steam and breathe through the sudden onslaught of moisture.

A voice called from the mist. “Don’t be shy, come and sit with me.”

Another bench, this of polished stone, sat by the door with a pile of towels, and above it another robe hung. Elves were a physically private people and she was very tempted to just leave her own robe where it was. She became keenly aware that she was no longer in Mirkwood, but mired in a culture very unlike her own, so she decided on bravery instead, and slipped the garment free.

With one hand pressed to the wall, she followed it for a span until suddenly the small pool and its only occupant came hazily into view.

The Dwarven Princess lounged against a padded rim of the natural pool, her dark hair pinned and lifted away and her bare flesh gleaming in flickering torch light.

“Come,” she said again, “sit with me.” She motioned to the carved-in seat near her.

Embarrassed by her nudity, Tauriel quickly made for the steps, which had been carved down into one side of the pool, and hissed at the heat of the water that prickled at her skin as she stepped down into it.

The princess chuckled lightly. “You get used to it, I promise.”

Tauriel gritted her teeth and waded to her seat, slowly lowering her body bit by bit into the pool. She wondered perhaps if the dwarves meant to cook her to death before finally collapsing back against the cushions, her unpinned hair like dark and flaming rivulets in the water around her.  Beautiful mosaics had been inlaid on the edges of the pool and along the floor and finely crafted lanterns hanged from the ceiling above, their light dim and unobtrusive, contributing to the air of peace, relaxation and comfort.

“These are the Queen’s Baths,” the princess said, and Tauriel saw that the other woman’s head was tilted back and her eyes closed, droplets of water bright on the long white column of her throat.

The water was clear enough that she could see the dwarf woman’s curves, large breasts with dusky nipples and voluptuously rounded hips.  “It is shared by all the ladies of the court,” the princess continued, “though this pool in particular is reserved for those women of the royal family. There is a separate lift for the men, of course, but you should feel free to use these as often as you wish.”

Tauriel looked down into the water before her, the shape of her knees warped and dulled. “I appreciate that… Your Highness.”

“Call me Dís, I insist, in private at least,” the woman said casually, absently trailing her fingers in the water, little eddies dancing away from their tips. “Tell me of yourself, Tauriel,” she demanded a moment later. “Rumor has it you were captain of your father’s guard, though surely that is an exaggeration.”

Tauriel tensed, unsure of herself, both physically and mentally vulnerable. Political games were complex and difficult to play and she’d never been an adept opponent. Honesty and boldness had always been more her style.     

“Yes, milady, I was captain of the Guard, a position I held for over two hundred years.”

A contemplative silence and then, “Is that common among your folk? To have women in such positions?”

Tauriel glanced toward her and found the princess’s eyes on her, curious and cool in the heat rising from the pool. “No, it is not precisely common. The women of my people know how to defend themselves, certainly, but tend to be drawn more to healing and tending wounds than creating them.”

Dís raised a brow, her expression difficult to read. “And you feel more prone to killing and violence?”

Tauriel flinched a little, staring down at the floating bits of her hair that looked almost like streams of blood. Once, she might have agreed with the statement. She could still vividly recall the day the news had come of her parents, and their funeral pyres shortly thereafter, smoke and ashes rising toward the stars. It was the day she had lost everything she had ever truly loved and all that remained were distant ghosts of faces she could only barely recall.

“Perhaps, once I was… my heart has gentled of late, however, but still I fight to protect my King and people from the foul creatures rising from the south. It seemed my duty, my purpose, if ever I had one.”

A shadow passed over the princess’s face. “The shadow grows in the forest, even we know this. Is it worse than we feared?”

Aware her king would not appreciate her revealing the private affairs of their kingdom, but somehow eager to speak truthfully, she said, “It grows worse every cycle of the moon. We eradicate spiders and goblins and they seem only to return, stronger than before.”

There was a long pause, then the water shifted and the princess lightly touched her shoulder, shocking Tauriel into stillness. Dís’s eyes were intense, boring into hers. “I would tell you something, though I must trust that you will not repeat it.” She withdrew her hand, hesitating a moment before saying, “It is something many suspect, but few wish to admit.”

“I-I will repeat nothing you say here,” Tauriel swore, mildly surprised at herself. Something about the princess called to her, a familiar song thrumming between them, the notes faint and indistinct, but real and growing stronger.  

Dís smiled, though it was fleeting. “My brother… the King, he is no longer the dwarf he once was. There is a curse upon our line, a curse which took my grandfather and father in turn and now grips Thorin.”

Tauriel felt a chill creep along her spine despite the intense heat of the pool. “What do you mean a curse?”

Dís looked away, reclining back, but her shoulders were tense and her jaw tight. “It is more a sickness, perhaps, one that has plagued our people since the dawning of time. A gold sickness, though some call it the dragon sickness. It causes good men to have their hearts blinded by greed.”

Tauriel wasn’t sure what to think or say and after a moment the princess took pity on her. “I tell you this in warning. Soon I will be made to depart from Erebor, and I will not be here to help or protect you. My son… he is a brave, bold and reckless lad and has avoided his responsibilities nearly all his life.” She paused, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. “I confess I was happy to let him. I have lived long enough to see the terrible toll the weight of a mountain can take on a person, but I hope that through you, perhaps, that weight might grow lighter.”

“But what can I possibly do?” Tauriel found herself saying, a sense of panic that had simmered inside her for days dangerously close to boiling over. “I know nothing of your people or customs.” She felt as though she had been thrown into a deep lake and been asked to swim many miles back to shore.

Dís smiled softly. “Yes, and I think that may be exactly what this kingdom needs.”

Tauriel opened her mouth to protest, but the princess shook her head and stood, water cascading down her body. Tauriel looked quickly away. When last had she seen another woman naked?

“Come, it is not good to stay in the heat for too long.”

Aware that she was, in fact, feeling a little light headed, Tauriel stood and followed after. They each grabbed a towel and tugged on their robes, but instead of going into the chamber where she’d left her clothing, Dís led her along the opposite wall to another door.

The princess opened it and ushered her into a much larger, more brightly lit chamber. Another pool sat within and the bright light came from a series of long chutes sprawled across the ceiling above. A dozen naked female dwarves stared at her and Tauriel found herself rooted to the spot.

“I have invited the princess to join us, ladies. I’m sure you will extend to her every courtesy,” Dís said cheerfully, voice echoing, and there was a glint of steel in her eyes.

A young girl, slighter than most of the others, with rose gold hair came eagerly forward. She alone wore a robe and had been sitting to one side with two other women who were clearly her relatives. The girl bowed a bit and the princess introduced her. “This is Nemra, daughter of Nim. Her family hails from a prestigious line of nobility.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” Nemra said, her light eyes shining. She had no beard, just long sideburns that had been artfully braided. Tauriel noted the single bright gold bead set with rubies on either end of the braids, suddenly thankful for Hilde’s brief lesson.

Feel decidedly awkward, Tauriel bowed her head a bit and said, “The pleasure is mine, milady.”

“Is it true you’re over a thousand years old?” the young dwarf blurted, excitement dancing in her eyes.

Dís frowned. “Now, Nemra, that’s-“

“It’s alright,” Tauriel interrupted with a smile. “I don’t mind. No, I am not over a thousand years old. I recently celebrated by four hundred and thirty-second birthday.”

The girl’s eyes were wide. “Is that considered young among your people?”

Tauriel nodded, still smiling at the unabashed alarm and disbelief. “I am one of the youngest elves in my kingdom, yes.”

Nemra frowned. “I had heard elves do not often have children….”

“I and three others were the first in several hundred years and the last since.”       

Nemra considered this for a moment. “That is… rather sad, isn’t it?”

The decline in elven children was an old wound, but one her people still felt keenly. Tauriel herself had never met an elven child. “Yes, yes it is.”

“Come, let us soak a while,” Dís interrupted, clearly attempting to steer the young noblewoman away from such a sensitive subject.

Nemra instantly cheered and said, “These pools are special, you know. Blessed by Mahal’s wife, Queen of the Earth and Stars.”

Tauriel, who had never been terribly keen on her studies, knew at least that the dwarven ‘Mahal’ was Aulë and that his wife was blessed Yavanna. Armed with this knowledge, she looked upon the clear, crisp water with true interest.

The pools smelled strongly of herbs, but they served to clear her senses and relax her nerves as she sank slowly into the lukewarm water. The other dwarf women had resumed their conversations, though most fell to whispers, but their eyes followed her.

“These pools hold healing properties,” Nemra continued, having removed her own robe and slipping into the place near her. Her skin was clear and lovely, curvy as all dwarf women appeared to be, with pert breasts and a flat stomach. “It’s said that the Old Queen fell gravely ill with her first born, King Thror, and she came to these pools on the eve of his birth and was whole again.”

“Aye,” another woman said, wrinkled and old with a gray beard and hair. “These pools have long eased the aches and strains of our women folk.”

Dís smiled. “Princess Tauriel, this is the Lady Oréll, though most of us call her Mother Ore for she is nearly as old as the mountain herself.”

Several of the other women laughed in good natured teasing, though Lady Oréll glowered.

“Why, I remember when you were little more than a snot nosed babe, hiding behind your mother’s skirts.”

Vaguely alarmed by the lack of decorum, Tauriel was relieved when Dís only laughed.

Tauriel spent a rather pleasant hour talking with the princess and a few of the other ladies in the pools before Dís announced they would be taking their leave. The princess personally handed Tauriel her robe and guided her back to where Hilde awaited them.

“Thank you for the invitation, my lady,” Tauriel said with a sincere smile. “It was quite… relaxing.”

Dís returned this with a smile of her own. “It was my pleasure,” she said as several handmaids descended upon them. The princess’s eyes held hers captive and there was a well of worry within them. “Think carefully on what I said and I hope we will have a chance to speak again before my departure.”

That same chill of unease pooled at the base of her spine. “I will, Your Highness.”

“Good” she replied with a stern nod. “Farewell for now. Oh, and Tauriel?”

“Yes?”

“Keep your guard up, not everything is what it seems,” the princess’s voice was pitched low and her gaze intense, and the sense of unease grew.

Tauriel bowed a little and rose to find the princess had already taken off down the hall.

“Come,” Hilde said quietly. “The Elvenking has been asking for you.”

* * *

Kíli burst into the meeting chamber without prelude, a harried looking scribe at his heels.

Thorin stood at the head of a long table filled with the most important dwarves in the kingdom, and surprised Kíli by doing the one thing he had probably least expected: he smiled.

“Nephew,” Thorin said almost cheerfully, stepping around the table. “We were just speaking of you. Please, take a seat.”

Sensing a trap, Kíli looked to his brother, who merely offered the barest shrug of his shoulders.

Caught off-guard, he sat beside Balin near the door, the reasons for his intrusion simmering beneath the surface, briefly cowed.

“We were just discussing when your wedding might be held. Tradition typically dictates one year and a day, but times being what they are… the Elvenking and I have decided to move things along a bit quicker.” Thorin’s smile held far too many teeth.

Kíli swallowed thickly, aware all eyes were on him. He had not come to discuss his own predicament –in his heart he was already at least half resigned to his fate- but to speak of his mother’s. At his uncle’s words, however, his stomach dropped. This did not bode well.

Thorin was clearly waiting for some sort of response, so Kíli said in a carefully toneless voice, “How much quicker?”

“Three months, should all go as planned.”

Several of the surrounding dwarves looked deeply displeased and Kíli silently prayed that one of them might speak up, but if anything the silence grew deeper and more prevalent.

He didn’t quite know what to say, but Thorin clearly did not need a reply. “Preparations have already begun and I’ve just arranged for you to take the Princess and King Thranduil on a tour of the kingdom. A two or three day journey, I should think.”

Kíli found his voice. “And what of my mother and her marriage to that worthless-“

Thorin spun, eyes burning. “Careful, nephew. You will watch your tongue when you speak of Lord Dain,” he said, then composed his features before continuing, pacing away with his back turned. “We leave a week after your wedding for the Iron Hills, where Lord Dain and Princess Dis will wed. You and Fíli will remain here.”

And just like that, Kili’s temper snapped. “She is my mother,” he all but snarled.

Thorin’s shoulders tensed and he turned slowly on his heel. Kíli could see he had been waiting for this outburst, hoping for it even, and his lips curled up in a sneer. “You would stand here and question me?” he said with slow calculation. “You who have never sat in on a council, who has actively avoided all responsibility. You who have wasted more coin than I care to consider in brothels and taverns, wasting your life away without a care in the world. You would question my will and authority?”

Kíli might have spent his life doing whatever he could to avoid politics, but he knew a political trap when he stepped right into one. Here was the moment Thorin called Kíli’s loyalty into question, a very precise and effective tactic. He deflated and for the first time in a very long time, he felt shame. Shame for his total disregard for the occurrences in his own kingdom, for the situation he had landed himself in, and the helpless feeling that was threatening to overwhelm him. He had no one to blame but himself, which made everything all the worse.

He knew, in that moment, that things would have to change. _He_ would have to change.

But for now, Kíli bowed his head. “No, Uncle, I apologize for my outburst. I will, of course, do as you wish.”

The silence stretched and Kíli raised his eyes. Thorin was looking at him thoughtfully, a hint of regret flickering across his features before he turned away. “You have wasted enough of my time, nephew. Go speak with Norí about the tour, he will relay the details.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, and departed, the sense of shame lingering heavily between his shoulders.

* * *

Tauriel sat heavily, a piece of parchment clasped loosely in her fingers. “What do you mean he is gone?”

Thranduil, looking perturbed and weary said, “He left sometime in the night, taking two of the Guard with him.” His tone turned accusatory as his eyes fell on Curial who stood at attention near the door to the room.

Curial fell instantly to his knee, head bowed low. “You have my deepest apologies, my King. I will ensure that they are severely punished.”

Thranduil sighed, clearly annoyed. “Do not bother. My son can be very stubborn indeed. Your men likely did all they could under the circumstances.”

Curial rose hesitantly and he exchanged a glance with her. Their king did not often lose his temper, but it was always volatile and dangerous when he did. They were both on edge, waiting for the explosion. Tauriel, for her part, felt the sting of Legolas’s departure like a slowly rupturing wound that continued to grow and spread, threatening to consume her.

His note was addressed not to her, but to Thranduil. Expressing his apologies, but also his unwillingness to participate in what he deemed unnatural and cruel. There was nothing in the carefully written lines for her; he had not even mentioned her by name. As if, to him, she had ceased to exist.

Thranduil stood near his desk, resting a pale fist against it with his back turned to her.

“While you were away this morning, I met with King Thorin. We have agreed on a wedding date.”

Dread curled in her throat like a serpent and she could not speak.

“We have agreed to hold the ceremony three months hence. I am to return home the day after next, though I will be back for the _blessed_ event.”

A torrent of emotions collided within her, birthing a storm in her heart that she could not calm. She could feel Curial’s eyes on her, but could not bring herself to look at him. Dreamlike, she lifted the braid that lay heavily against her breast and examined the gleaming beads. They were warm to the touch. She thought of her time spent with the dwarven princess and the dance she’d shared with her betrothed and a spark of something fragile and tentative flickered to life amidst the deluge.  

Tauriel lifted her chin, determination quelling the hurricane within. She could be brave.

“As my King commands.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very character buildy, apologies if it seemed to drag a bit. Hope you enjoyed! I would love to hear your thoughts and, as always, you can find me on Tumblr under, you guessed it, chasingperfectiontomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili takes his future bride on a tour of Erebor and things do not go precisely as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really enjoyed writing this chapter and hope you all enjoy reading it! As always, much love to helia (misscity on Tumblr) for her wonderful editing, seriously guys, she's the best.

**Beneath Stone and Sky**

**Chapter Four**

_In Which a Thief is Saved and a Spark Grows into a Flame_

\------

Kíli stood at the gates of Erebor, soaking in a bit of sunshine as he awaited his bride-to-be. Norí stood beside him, dressed in the fine robes of his uncle’s privy council, with their guards and servants chatting quietly in the foreground while their baggage was dealt with. The servants and their belongings would travel ahead, utilizing the lifts and tram systems to descend --lifts and trams Kíli wished they might use as well so the whole ordeal might be over with all the sooner.

The morning had dawned bright and clear, birds chirping and the ravens of Erebor cawing raucously to one another; a pleasant day, inviting and peaceful, and he would rather have been almost anywhere else. Kíli had tried to see his mother the previous evening and again that morning, and still she had avoided him. It had put him in a foul mood and the last thing in the world he wanted to do was show a bunch of prissy, haughty elves around the kingdom.

Appearing bored and nearly as unwilling as he felt, the Elvenking and his entourage arrived at last. Princess Tauriel, however, was a different story. There was an undeniable bounce to the elf-maid’s step and a small smile graced her lips as she walked toward them. She wore another Elven gown, deep blue and airy, as though made of the night sky and wisps of cloud as it floated and fluttered about her.

Kíli’s eye was immediately drawn to the intricate weave of her hair, done in a plainly Dwarven style that emphasized the aristocratic arch of her cheekbones. Diamond studded engagement beads glistened in the sun and Kíli suddenly felt a bit warm about the collar. She looked bonny, indeed, and his palms began to sweat.

It would be easier to despise her, he reasoned grumpily, if she weren’t quite so fair.

Nori stepped forward and bowed to the Elvenking, the beaded braids in his red hair clicking lightly together. “Greetings, Your Majesty. I am Lord Norí, advisor to the King and recently appointed Royal Scholar.”

Princess Tauriel smiled at Norí with an odd look of recognition. “Are you perhaps brother to Orí, my lord?” she asked pleasantly.

Norí looked up at her in surprise, then smiled as he glanced behind her where Orí peeked out and waved sheepishly dressed in full armor. Kíli had wondered where his old friend had gone off to and was mildly shocked it was he who had been assigned to his future bride’s safety.

“Aye, my lady, I’m afraid I must claim him as kin. Has he been treating you well?” Norí replied with the hint of a smirk.

“Well indeed, my lord, though I often wonder at the necessity of having a Dwarven guard always at my heels.” There was a hint of challenge in her eye, a glimmer of spirit beneath the pretty picture she painted.  

Nori shifted on his feet. “Ah well, I’m afraid that is by order of the King, and it is only for your protection, my lady, I assure you.” Even _Kili_ knew that was a load of horse shit.

The princess lifted a brow before her expression cleared. “I appreciate King Thorin’s concern,” she said, tone neutral, but Kíli had a sense the thread of dissatisfaction remained.  

Aware he’d lapsed in his manners, Kíli cleared his throat and bowed to first the Elvenking and then to his betrothed, avoiding her eye.

“I am honored to be at your service, Your Majesty,” he said with practiced ease.

King Thranduil sniffed. “I am afraid I will not be accompanying you on this little outing. I must return to my home this afternoon.”

Kíli frowned, glancing beseechingly at Nori, who also looked perturbed.

“I am sorry, Your Majesty,” the scholar said, “we had not heard of your departure. Perhaps we can save the official tour until your return-“

King Thranduil lifted one pale hand. “That will not be necessary. My daughter is eager to see more of her future kingdom and I see no reason why she should be made to wait.”

Nori glanced at Kíli, the Elvenking, and the princess whose smile had faded and expression had become unreadable. “Well, if that is what my lord wishes-“

“Lovely,” the elf king said impatiently. “Well, I must really be on my way, your King will likely wish to speak with me before my departure.” Thranduil turned toward his daughter, relaying something to her in elvish which made her frown.

Two of the Elven guards, their armor intricate and gleaming, stepped forward as the princess shook her head, clearly in disagreement. The matter seemed to revolve around one of the guards in particular, a hardy looking warrior with dark hair and a scar near his left eye. The elf was looking between his king and princess with almost comical distress until at last Thranduil waved him impatiently away and another guard came nervously forth.

“What was that about?” Kíli asked Nori quietly in Khuzdul. Nori, as one of the crown’s chief scholars, had studied many of Middle-earth’s languages.

The other dwarf, still frowning, whispered back, “The elf King wished to leave her with two guards, there was a disagreement to which two it would be. And there was more -I ah,” he shook his head, “I think I must have misunderstood the rest of it.”

“What do you mean?” he pressed, watching as the princess and her father exchanged quiet farewells. Thranduil’s expression had softened as he held her hands tightly in his. The sight made him feel uneasy, as though he were intruding on a private moment, and he looked away.

“She said something along the lines of - ‘ _I am less a princess and more a captain and I beg you to listen to me this one last time._ ’ As I said, I must have misunderstood. It has been many years since I have spoken Sindarin with anyone of skill.” Nori scratched at his long beard.

Kíli looked at his willowy, delicate bride-to-be, and considered that first day, when Thorin had announced their engagement. Recalling how she had moved like a dancer, or a fighter, and the way her hand had drifted to her side, as though looking for the comfort of a familiar weapon.

Still… Captain of the Guard _and_ a royal princess? It seemed highly unlikely.

Kíli shrugged. Why should he care either way? He just wanted this trip done and over with.

The Elvenking made his farewells and departed with all but two of his guards –the princess had clearly won the argument, as a smaller, lighter haired guard replaced the scarred warrior. She watched her father go for a long moment, her expression hidden by the bright glare of the sun as it shone through the gate, before turning at last to smile politely at Nori.

“I apologize for the delay,” she said, chin raised. “We are ready now.”

Nori nodded and motioned a set of servants forward bearing a large, heavily cushioned litter.

“We have prepared this as a means of transportation, my lady, as it is quite a long walk to the second tier of the kingdom.”

The princess inspected the chair, borne by four servants dressed in the fine, deep blue livery of the royal house, and there was a distinct air of disdain about her. Kíli groaned internally. She was likely used to fine carriages or something and they were about to have to entertain her complaints and wishes, which would only prolong his suffering.

“I would prefer to walk, if that is alright,” she said at last and Nori frowned.

“It truly is a long walk, Your Highness. I think it best-”

“Do you intend to walk, Prince Kíli?” she asked, startling him and holding him captive with a hard stare.

“Ah, yes, I had,” he stumbled and she nodded as though that had decided everything.

“Then I, too, shall walk. I assure you, my lords, I am stronger than I look.”     

Nori smiled and bowed though there was a spark of panic in his eyes; the old scholar did not like surprises, preferring meticulously executed plans, unlike his younger brother. Kíli and Orí had gotten into plenty of trouble in their young years; hell, they still did on occasion.

“Very well, my lady. We should be on our way if we’re to reach our accommodations in a timely manner.”

The Elven guards fell in beside her and she smiled, a hint of eagerness tugging at the corners.

“Please, lead the way.”

* * *

 

Tauriel was equal parts fascinated and in awe as they descended into the mountain. Lord Nori was an excellent guide, naming and detailing every place they went and answering her questions with true pleasure, as though he wasn’t quite used to having anyone’s undivided attention. She quickly warmed to the scholarly dwarf, with his eccentric hair and flowing robes.  He reminded her of a younger Balin, perhaps, with a bit more humor glimmering in his eyes.

Lord Nori explained to her the different tiers of the kingdom as it ran along a great spiral deep into the mountain. He told her of their exports and how much of their food was imported from Dale and River Town, but that they boasted herds of their own livestock and certain plants that were special to the caverns in which they were grown. Mushrooms, of course, but also a specific type of lettuce and even a few types of fruit.

Eventually, Orí joined into the conversation.

“Down that passage there is the home Nori and I grew up in,” her faithful Dwarven shadow said as they walked down a path that was wide enough to accommodate several large wagons side by side.

The marble and stone, flecked with gold in places, spiraled downward and pulley systems and lifts lined the gaping center to facilitate easier travel and the transportation of goods. They had just descended past the main public chambers and royal accommodations and down into the second ring, which, according to Lord Nori, housed all the Dwarven nobility and important merchants. The path here was bustling, and many stared and whispered behind their hands as they passed.

“And there,” Orí continued, pointing to a large central building with deeply carved runes on the front, “is where our father works.”

“It’s a library,” Lord Nori explained, shooting his brother a look, “though the Royal Library far outshines it. Thorin’s great, great grandfather decreed that there ought to be a public place of learning and my family has long seen to its care. Though my services are required by the King’s council, someday I will oversee its operation.”

“Someone had to serve in the Guard, however,” Orí explained. “It’s tradition for the second son to serve the King, so here I am.”

“A shame, too,” Lord Nori said, smile wistful. “Orí had the best head for runes and study. Mother used to say he was born with his nose pressed in a book.”

Ori swatted his brother’s back affectionately. “You’re only saying that, brother. Nori serves the King and our father well. As you can see, few have better knowledge of the kingdom and all its history. I don’t mind lugging about a sword and following pretty Elven princesses about.”

Lord Nori snorted and Tauriel laughed brightly. She was quite enjoying herself, happy to finally be allowed to walk about, but then she caught sight of Prince Kíli from the corner of her eye and her smile faltered. Her betrothed had remained largely silent through their descent, clearly lost in thoughts of his own as he lagged somewhat behind.

Squaring her shoulders, she fell back to walk at his side. “Are you well, my lord?” she asked, oddly nervous. They’d had very little time to converse and she found she did not know what to say to him.

He glanced at her, dark eyes dismissive. “Well enough, my lady.”

Clearly he had no intention of making this easy on her. “Do you, ah, travel past the upper ring of the city often?”

He sighed, one hand clutching the hilt of a sword and the other swinging freely. “More often than my uncle would like, I think.”

Tauriel frowned at the words. “He does not encourage you to mingle with your people?”

Kíli smirked and snorted, and neither held much humor, then glanced at her and away again. “I think he more disproves of the manner in which I choose to mingle, Your Highness.”

Something about his words made color creep up her neck and she looked away from him, at a loss. She truly had no idea what to say to this man –nearly a child in the eyes of her people - no idea what words might ease the distance between them that seemed to be growing rather than lessening.

It was Orí who came to her rescue. “I think that Her Highness would enjoy visiting the Terrace Market, don’t you, Nori?”

The elder dwarf seemed to consider this for a moment, pausing as they passed beneath a wide arch that stretched toward the shadows of the mountain above. Pinpricks of torch light and braziers twinkled back at her like hot stars.

“Well, perhaps we could make a brief visit, if the lady is inclined,” Lord Nori conceded and she smiled.

“I am more than happy to experience all aspects of your culture, my lord.”

Orí snorted into his gloved hand. “Careful, lass, you may come to regret those words.”

Tauriel smiled in response; she’d always enjoyed a challenge.

She glanced at her betrothed and found that he had returned to his brooding, seemingly unaware of her or anything else. Internally she heaved a great sigh. The next three days were likely to prove trying indeed. It was such a joy, however, to be released from her rooms, to be allowed a chance to explore, albeit under guard and procession, but her natural yearning for adventure overwhelmed any sense of true annoyance.

Lord Norí and their guard led the way further down the main path, wide tunnels and looming buildings –all of which had been carved directly into the mountain- ringed around their right side. Bright banners hung from storefronts and the echo of voices rose from below to condense about them. Eventually, they branched off down a well-lit, heavily trafficked tunnel, and they followed the scent of cooked meats and the sound of bright voices.

The Terrace Market resided in a wide, open cavern that overlooked one of the mountain’s largest mines, Nori explained. A ring of pillars held the dozens of shops in place with many colorful carts placed at the center where scores of people navigated around them. Tauriel had never seen a place so vibrantly _alive_. She could not help but gape, nearly overwhelmed by all the color and noise and smells. Their guard cleared a path large enough for her, Lord Norí, and Prince Kíli to pass through and they descended into the chaos.

Tauriel wanted to look at everything all at once. Carts of silks and vibrant fabrics were helmed by harried women shouting over each other, dozens of stalls sold all types of fine jewels, more still sold weapons and armor, but the most fascinating of all were the toy carts. Tauriel watched with interest as an elder dwarf, his long white beard nearly brushing the floor, twisted the mechanism of an intricately carved bird made of swirling hoops of gold and silver, then released it gently to flutter around his head.

“ _Celair,_ ” she breathed in awe, taking an unconscious step forward. Her two guards Seremet and Melrokier followed, clearing a space, and she approached the shopfront.

The old dwarf eyed her warily for a moment, snatching the bird from the air, then stood sharply as Prince Kíli came into view behind her. He looked rather star-struck.

“Your Highnesses,” the old dwarf said, executing a shaky bow as he leaned heavily on a cane. “I am Xern, and I am at your service.”

Admiring a herd of silver deer set on a long track that encompassed one display table, Tauriel ran her finger along the back of one. It was warm to the touch, as though it were somehow alive.

“These are amazing, sir. I have never seen anything like them,” she said, turning her attention to a figure of a dancing dwarf woman in elegantly crafted sheets of bright metal and inset jewels.

The dwarf bustled forward and turned a thick key. A song played, beautiful and haunting, as the figure ran along a circular track, enacting a lovely and complex dance through a series of complex gears and hinges.

“It’s beautiful, truly,” she said and smiled at him.     

“For you, my lady, please,” he insisted immediately and Tauriel flushed with embarrassment.

“I couldn’t, it is too fine a piece to merely give away,” she insisted, backing away from the pretty music box.

The old dwarf frowned in thought, then brightened. “I have just the thing, wait here please, I’ll only be a moment.”

He hobbled off toward the back of his little shop and bent to pilfer through a few containers before returning with a small wood and gold box. The box bore no keyhole or hinges and she wondered over it as he handed it to her.

“A puzzle box,” Lord Nori declared, standing at her side, and taking the box when she offered it to him, “of very fine make, I have never seen the like.”

“No one has ever managed to open it,” the old dwarf said, chest puffing with almost comical pride. “I’ve sold it twice and it’s always managed to make its way back to me. I would offer it to my lady as a gift and a challenge.” He tapped the side of his nose and winked at her. “If my lady manages to divulge the boxes secrets, she will win its prize.”

Tauriel smiled, intrigued by the mystery. “And what is this prize?”

“Now that would ruin half the fun, wouldn’t it?” the old dwarf said.

She could see the eagerness in the dwarf’s eyes and smiled. “I accepted your challenge, Master Xern, thank you.”

“It was pleasure, my lady. I hope you will come by again, Your Highness,” Xern said, now addressing Kíli who lingered behind her in the doorway of the shop. “And may I congratulate you on your coming nuptials, my lord.”

Prince Kíli visibly stiffened as her own stomach sank, but he managed to fix a smile on his face.

“I thank you, sir, for the gift and your kind words, but we really must be going,” he said stiffly and turned on his heel to leave.

Tauriel smiled cordially at the shopkeeper, stung a little herself. If only she and Kíli could have a real conversation with one another, get to _know_ one another for a few private moments. She watched him leave for a moment, wondering if she would ever find a way to bridge the chasm between them, before bowing to Master Xern and departing.  

* * *

Princess Tauriel was much subdued after her visit to the toy master’s shop and Kíli felt a prickling of guilt; he was not being an amiable host. He reminded himself for perhaps the hundredth time that this, their predicament, was not her fault. Unlike him, however, she, at least, appeared to be trying to make the best of it.

He glanced at her, considering. She stood straight and tall, the engagement beads in her hair glistening, and she seemed somehow untouchable, though the memory of her warmth as they’d danced was emblazoned in his mind. There was bravery in what she did, he realized, and strength. Kíli thought perhaps Balin was right --perhaps there was more to her after all.

The people about them stared, word of his engagement having traveled quickly, of course, and he felt a prickling of unease. Not all the eyes were kind. Would anyone think to hurt her? Or possibly him? They were surrounded by guards, all of them heavily armed, but would that be enough? Bofur would say he was being paranoid, but public opinion of his uncle, and thus his family by proxy, had fallen in the last few years as Thorin had become increasingly more hostile and reclusive. He could almost sense that restlessness now and it made his skin crawl.

What must his people think of such a move, marrying a Dwarven Prince to an Elven Princess? He hardly knew what to make of it himself.

Kíli turned to Norí. “We should be on our way if we wish to make the Golden Hammer in a timely manner,” he said. He’d only ever stayed at the inn, reserved for the wealthiest of dwarves, a handful of times, and always when traveling with his uncle or mother. He preferred simpler, earthier places, with cheap drinks and better company.  

Norí nodded. “Of course, Your Highness, at once. We can depart through the secondary tunnel, it ought to be faster than attempting to make our way back through this madness.”

Norí turned to give one of the guards instructions and they began to route their way through the crowds. Moments later, however, a commotion drew the attention of the crowd till it parted enough that he could see.

“Caught red handed again, eh vermin?” a pot-bellied dwarf bellowed from behind a fruit cart, holding a scraggly bit of a dwarf by the arm. “It’ll be a nice cushy cell for you this time, if they don’t just take your hand out right.”

Guards stationed throughout the market descended on the scene as the thief struggled to escape in vain. “Let me go, ya rat bastard!!”

Durin’s balls, Kíli thought at the sound of the frantic voice. The filthy and ragged creature was just a girl, and young at that.

“Come now, Princess, we don’t need to watch this,” Norí urged and Kíli looked at the elf-maid, taken aback by the consternation of her expression.  Before any of them could think to stop her, she stepped apart from the crowd and approached the fruit seller.

“Excuse me, sir, I was wondering if I might perhaps purchase whatever the girl has stolen from you?” the princess said, loud and clear over the sudden hush of the people gathered.

The boisterous merchant turned an interesting shade of red as the creature in his grasp tugged and struggled for freedom. Norí, for his part, seemed close to fainting straight away.

“Who in Durin’s name do you think you are, you Elven-“

It was Orí who proved quickest on his feet, pressing forward just in time to interrupt what was sure to be a colorful insult. “This is the Princess Tauriel of Mirkwood and you will show her your respect,” the young guard said sternly, puffing out his chest.

The merchant scowled, clearly not easily cowed. “I don’t care if she’s a bloody Elven goddess, this is no business of hers.”

Aware he ought to intervene, and quickly, Kíli made to take a step forward, opening his mouth to speak, but his betrothed beat him to it.

“May I not buy off this girl’s crime? Surely you don’t mean to take her hand, the poor thing is clearly starving,” she reasoned, now addressing one of the guards who had come to collect the thief into custody. The man looked uneasy, clearly not at all sure how much deference to give her. The crowd muttered and whispered, but did not interfere, apparently interested in how the whole affair would pan out.

Mahal’s balls, couldn’t the woman just leave well enough alone?

“Ah well, that’s not quite how things are done, ma’am- I mean, Your Highness-“ the poor guard began, looking desperately between the princess and the furious merchant.

“I understand the need to punish law breakers, sir,” the princess said calmly, “I don’t mean to redeem her debt without a price. I thought she might serve in my household till it is repaid.”

Nori had finally recovered himself, stepping past Orí to speak. “Your Highness, I am not sure that is such a good idea. The girl is a common thief, what use could you possibly have for her?”

The princess fixed him with a hard stare, eyes glinting with a hint of steel. “I have great need of a few new servants and I am sure that, given the opportunity, this girl would much rather be a maid than a thief.”

The merchant snorted, still holding the girl by her arm in what had to be a bruising grip. “This gutter trash? Girl doesn’t know shite about anything but thievery and whorin’.”

Kíli caught the girl’s eye and there was a wild, pleading desperation within.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, cursing Elven sensibilities, and stepped forward. The expression of the guard and the merchant changed immediately.

“Your-your Highness, Prince Kíli, we did not see you there-“

“You, girl,” Kíli interrupted harshly. “What is your name?”

The thief lifted her head, hair so matted it was hard to distinguish the color, and said, barely loud enough to hear, “Frena, milord.”

“Is it true what this man says, did you steal from him?” Kíli felt a pressing ache sprouting in the back of his head. Mahal, he needed a drink.

“Bloody right she did –Ah, Your Highness,” the merchant responded before the girl could say anything, “and it ain’t the first time either. Little tramp has done nothing but steal from others since the day she was born.”

“That's a filthy lie,” Frena shouted, kicking at the merchant's shins. “My ma was-“

“A lying whore just like you!” the merchant bellowed and then cried out when the girl whipped her head around and dug her teeth into his meaty arm. He growled and clamped a hand around her throat, effectively cutting off the girl’s assault as she fought to breathe, choking and gasping as dirty, chipped nails clawed at the thick appendage.

“You’re hurting her!” Princess Tauriel cried, stepping forward as though to physically intervene.

“Enough!” Kíli cried in his best attempt at princely authority –it wasn’t a card he played often.

“Girl, I could care less what happens to you, but the princess believes you are worth more than you seem,” he said, “So I would endeavor to behave as though you are.”

“I will pay this girl’s fine,” Princess Tauriel reiterated and her tone was cool. “And you will release her into my care. Should she resort to stealing again I will surrender her unto the full extent of the law.”

The guards looked uneasily at one another before one nodded and said, “Very well, my lady, but I wouldn’t trust her not to stab you in your sleep. The poor wretch hasn’t known anything but violence and thievery since her parents died.”

Tauriel said nothing, though Kíli thought he saw her jaw tighten sharply for a brief moment.

“Melrokier, will you pay this _upstanding_ gentleman what he is owed, so we might be on our way,” she said, addressing the taller of her two Elven guards. He stepped dutifully forward, fishing free a large purse and Norí accompanied him, likely to ensure that some sort of brawl didn’t break out during the negotiations as was sometimes want to happen even at the best of times.  

Kíli took this opportunity to grip the elf-maid’s arm and hiss, “What in Durin’s name were you _thinking_?”

She looked startled, glancing at where his hand touched her. Her eyes narrowed, but she did not attempt to break away from him. “I was thinking, _my lord_ , that a young girl does not deserve to die for attempting to feed herself. Just look at her,” she insisted in a harsh whisper, “the poor thing is skin and bones.”

The warmth of her skin bled through her gauzy sleeve, setting fire to his bones, and he released her quickly, color rising to his cheeks. “She is your problem now. If she robs you blind or causes any issue, I don’t want to hear about it.”

The princess’s mouth twitched, as though she were only barely able to hold back a biting response, and bowed. “Of course, my lord.” There was a great deal of fire in her eyes, enough to almost cow him, instead he turned away from her as the Elven guard - Melroky or something of that nature - collected the filthy girl.

“Five gold pieces, my lady,” the elf said grouchily, “this creature is hardly worth a copper, but I couldn’t get him to budge.”

“It’s no matter, Melrokier, thank you. Hilde,” the Princess called and the nervous looking handmaiden stepped forward. “Will you watch over her for now? Be sure to give her something to eat and some water, we will clean her up when we reach our destination.”

The handmaid nodded and fetched a blanket to wrap the girl in, whispering to her gently in Khuzdul and leading her to the back of their small procession.

Irritated and grumpier than before, Kíli snatched Norí by his sleeve. “Let’s get the hell out of here before she starts collecting more orphans.”

“The lass has a kind heart,” Nori rebuffed gently, motioning the guards to press them forward once more.

Kíli snorted, the ache turning into a pounding thump at the back of his brain. “She has a _blind_ heart that is likely to get her and _me_ into trouble.”

Still, a voice whispered, she had shown more backbone than he had given her credit for. The idea that perhaps he admired her, just a little, only managed to irritate him further.

* * *

The Golden Hammer was a very fine inn indeed. The finest in all the kingdom, Lord Nori had assured her upon their arrival, obviously relieved to have made it so far without further incident.

It was clear that the establishment had been designed with nobility and royalty in mind. Tauriel was almost disappointed. For reasons she couldn’t quite express, she was eager to experience more of Erebor, the _true_ Erebor, hidden beneath all the gold and riches. The Golden Hammer was just another gilded cage, another prison of finery and expense.

Her new charge, however, created an interesting and refreshing atmosphere.

“You’re scrubbing me bloody skin off, ya old hag!” Frena barked as Hilde attempted to wash years worth of grime from her back. The handmaiden whacked her unruly charge with the end of the scrubbing brush.

“One can hardly tell you have skin at all under this filth, and you’ll not speak so in front of Her Highness, you hear me?” Hilde chided, fulfilling the role of a stern matron with natural ease.

Tauriel smiled to herself and moved to sit near the fire, the bath situated at the center of the room, and Tauriel could tell, judging by the murkiness of the water, they were going to have to change it again.

“Tell me, Frena,” she said as kindly as possible, “What happened to your parents?”

The girl lifted her head, dark hair falling over half her face so only one, deep brown eye glinted. “None of your bloody business, that’s wha-“

Hilde hissed furiously, whacking the girl once more with the brush. “Speak to the princess like that again, girl, and I’ll personally escort you back to that merchant.”

Tauriel hid a flinch and ducked her head. “No, she’s right, it was presumptuous of me to ask. I only wished to get a better sense of your situation, Frena, and how I might fit you into my household.”

The girl ducked her head and sniffed. “S’all right, I just ain’t used to people being kind to me and I learned a long time ago not to trust anyone who is. Kindness ain’t ever free.”

Tauriel considered this for a long moment and sighed. “I suppose I can understand that, so I will make an agreement with you. Serve me for a month, do as you’re told and work hard, and if you wish to leave, I will let you with gold in your pocket.”

Hilde gaped at her. “My lady, you can’t mean that-“

“You have my word, Frena,” Tauriel insisted, holding the girl’s gaze. Her beard was short, hardly there at all as it curved down from pronounced sideburns, and Tauriel thought she was likely very young indeed.

The girl’s eyes narrowed, the pale creaminess of her skin shining gold in the firelight as fresh patches of it were revealed. “I don’t trust nobody’s word, not no more,” Frena said and looked down, back hunched in. “But I’ll stay at least a month. I’ve still got some honor, no matter what ol’ Burc says.”

Tauriel nodded and rose to her feet. “Good, then we are agreed. Hilde will show and tell you what to do and I expect you to be obedient and polite, but if you have any trouble with anyone, you come straight to me.”

The girl said nothing, but nodded a bit. She had clearly been through an ordeal, the ghosts of some trauma hanging close about her, haunting and clear to see for anyone who cared to look. In time, Tauriel would ferret them out and help the girl to face them.

The following morning she was woken by a very timid and very different looking young Dwarven lass.

“Madame Hilde says it is time for you ta wake, Your, ah Highness,” Frena said, staring down at her slippers, hands clasped tightly in front of her.

The girl’s hair, a burnished brown with hints of red, had been thoroughly brushed and industriously plaited. Her slight beard had been trimmed and fashioned so it hugged the shadow of her jaw, and she wore a plain gown of white and blue. She was indeed young, the curves of her small body indicating that she was not quite yet a woman, even by her people’s standards, but still surprisingly pretty.

“Thank you, Frena,” Tauriel said, sitting up in bed still rather tired from a restless night of sleep. “Will you fetch me my dressing robe?”

The girl looked up, mildly panicked, and Tauriel pointed, fighting back an indulgent smile. “It’s there, hanging on the door. What time is it?”

The girl fetched the robe and thrust it awkwardly at her as Tauriel rose to her feet. The poor thing could barely look her in the eye. “Just afta dawn. Madame Hilde says the prince and the others want ta depart early. She went ta fetch yer breakfast.”

Tauriel accepted the garment, tying it about her waist and yawning deeply. Valar, it was so blessedly difficult to get used to the lack of sun. It could have been the middle of the night for all she knew.

“Very well. Did Hilde leave you with any further instructions?” she asked, sitting before a lavishly carved vanity. The room was large and well furnished, still its opulence unsettled her. Her rooms within the Elven palace had been modest, small even, and she’d often spent weeks outdoors, cradled in the boughs of the forest, overseeing the movements of her men and ensuring the safety of her kingdom.

She was becoming a pretty ornament, a glass figurine to be keep safe and warm in lovely places. The thought disturbed her greatly.

“Only tha I should see to whatever ye’d like, ma’am,” the girl said, jarring Tauriel from her melancholy.

“Perhaps you can help me select a gown for the day,” she said, forcing a cheery smile. “We are to visit the mines, or so Lord Nori says.”

The girl wrinkled her nose a bit. “Dusty, dirty place even at the best o’times. Wouldn recommend any o’the fine gowns you have, ma’am.”

Tauriel chuckled and rose to riffle through the contents of her closet. Not a single pair of trousers, as she’d suspected. There was, however, a plain woolen gown of bright, leaf green and she had thought to pack her sturdiest boots.

“This one ought to do,” she declared, setting the dress upon the bed. “I will need your help lacing it. Can you manage?”

The girl puffed her chest out and nodded sharply. “I used to help my ma wi’ her dresses afore she died. Though… yer a bit tall, ma’am.”

Tauriel laughed outright, blessing the child for her honesty. It was so wonderfully refreshing after all the pretty manners and false smiles of the last few days.

“Perhaps you can stand on that stool and I’ll hunch down a bit,” she said and a slow smile of true amusement graced Frena’s face.

They managed well enough and when Hilde returned with her breakfast, she was shocked to find the princess seated on her bed with their wayward ward standing behind her and braiding her hair. The braid was a simple style, common among peasant women, symbolizing contentment and happiness, but it looked well on her mistress.

“Careful not to snarl the strands, dear,” Hilde said with a resigned sigh. “It’ll take ages to tease them out again and the prince is already waiting.”

Tauriel bit back a smile of amusement at the look on her handmaiden’s face and nodded. “I believe we are nearly done. Have you eaten yet, Frena?”

“No, ma’am-“

“Your Highness or my lady,” Hilde corrected, almost as an afterthought as she set out a lavish meal at a small table.

“I mean, no, Your Highness,” Frena grumbled obediently.

“And you, Hilde?” Tauriel pressed.

“Not as yet, my lady,” she replied, setting her hands on ample hips, surveying her work with a sharp eye.

“Good, you shall both share this meal with me. There is plenty enough for all.”

Hilde looked vaguely scandalized. “I couldn’t, Your Highness. It wouldn’t be proper.”

Frena was already eagerly seated at the table, portioning out selections of pork and potatoes on her plate. Hilde visibly deflated.

“I shall never be able to teach her manners if you keep this up, my lady,” the older dwarf woman chastised and sat awkwardly across from Tauriel who’d seated herself between them.

“I’ve had entirely too much of manners and decorum, Hilde, especially at the expense of your breakfast,” Tauriel said, searching for something even remotely vegetable shaped. She was to the point where she thought of speaking to the royal cooks directly for all dwarves seemed to eat was _meat_.

“I see now why you’ve taken a street urchin into your care then, my lady, for I’m certain decorum is not in this girl’s nature,” Hilde grumbled and Frena stuck her tongue out at the handmaiden when the older woman ducked her head to fish out a few slices of bacon. Tauriel only barely managed to hide a snort of amusement behind her hand and settled for a few boiled eggs.

Dressed plainly, and far more comfortably than she had been since her arrival at Erebor, she was eager to begin the day. Tauriel and her maids met Lord Norí in the courtyard with Orí at her heels.

“You look lovely, Your Highness,” the scholar said with a subdued bow over her proffered hand.

Prince Kíli caught her eye from across the way, where he stood speaking with several guards. He surprised her by walking toward them with a smile that seemed to tentatively say ‘ _forgive me, I am trying.’_

“Ah, good morning, Princess, you look… well,” the prince fumbled, bowing as well. He, too, had dressed more subduedly, plain trousers, worn boots, and a deep green tunic with little embroidered stitching. He’d swept his hair back and secured it with a thick, silver clasp, calling her attention, for the first time, to the two braids on either side of his face. Two simple, silvery beads gleamed from either plait and she flushed deeply at their clear implication, matched by the braided beads in her own hair.   

“As do you, my lord,” she managed, oddly off-kilter, though heartened by his attempt at civility.

He appeared to be in much better spirits than the previous day. “Are we visiting the mines today? I confess I am eager to see them. Even among my people they are famous.”

"Indeed, my lady. We are ready to leave when you are,” Norí assured her graciously.

“Then let us be on our way,” she said as their guards gathered.

Seremet and Melrokier had, of course, been at her heels since she left her rooms and she took great comfort in their presence despite a lingering sense of embarrassment. Prior to this, Tauriel had been their Captain, a fair but demanding master --or so she hoped-- now somehow reduced despite her elevation. She’d been a princess for over three hundred years, she reminded herself, but until very recently she had not understood the true implications of the title.

“First, I thought we would take a tour of the workshops before descending via the lift to avoid some of the less appealing sections of the crafting quarters,” Lord Nori explained as they paced through a stone garden set with many pretty fountains. She wondered idly if she would ever grow used to the lack of trees, a place in her heart aching at the thought until she dutifully pressed the issue aside.

“Where do the common people of your realm live, my lord?” she queried with a frown. Certainly the mines would be at the lowest level of the kingdom.

“Oh, they reside in the third and fourth rings, both of which are quite large, but we will largely bypass them,” Lord Nori told her as they passed through the gates of the garden, the footmen there bowing low as they proceeded.

Tauriel stopped in her tracks and it was a moment before Lord Norí realized she was not beside him. Prince Kíli, on the other hand, stood at her side, his gaze probing.

“Why are we bypassing them? I should like to see how your people live,” she insisted.

Lord Norí looked uncomfortable, sharing a brief glance with the prince. “Some sections of the lower circles are… unsavory, my lady, and we did not wish to subject you to anything uncomfortable.”

Tauriel arched a brow at him, spine straightening. Her father had counseled her to not speak of her dealings as Captain of the Guard or how she was accustomed to living. After all, she was to be a true princess now, and true princesses did not gallivant through the forest killing spiders and orcs and sleeping outdoors with men. She was aware, not for the first time, that these dwarves thought her little more than a delicate and perhaps foolish maiden.

“I assure you, Lord Norí, I am not made easily uncomfortable. I would be very pleased to tour these lower circles and perhaps to stay in whatever sort of accommodations the area offers.”

Lord Norí looked almost appalled. “Surely my lady should not be reduced to staying in such undignified-“

“I think it’s a great idea,” Prince Kíli interrupted, surprising them both. “There are several places I can think to take Her Highness. Don’t look at me like that, Norí, they are clean wholesome establishments, but with the added benefit of less… ceremony and pomp,” he said these last words with obvious distaste that echoed her own in a manner she had not expected.

Tauriel couldn’t quite keep her elation at his support from her voice. “That sounds very pleasant indeed, Prince Kíli.”

The look the prince gave her was a bit odd, as though he could not decide whether or not she was serious, but he offered her another tentative smile in kind. “Then it is settled,” he told the frazzled looking scholar. “I think the Broken Anvil should serve our purposes very well.”

Lord Norí deflated and feverishly waved a nearby servant forward and relayed their change of plans. Sounding rather dejected he then told them, “The servants will deliver your belongings ahead so we might be on our way, if that is agreeable to Your Highnesses.”

Tauriel nodded, resolute and quite excited. “Very agreeable.”

The prince was still watching her, but she could not quite bring herself to meet his eye, unsure and, as yet, unwilling to discover what she might find there. Again she took comfort in his willingness to interact with her, perhaps there was hope for their mutual understanding.

“It’s a fine inn, my lady,” Frena whispered to her. “Near where my ma’s shop used ta be.”

“I am eager to see it,” she told her new maid before Hilde gathered the girl up and admonished her for speaking to their mistress so familiarly.

Tauriel would have to speak to her handmaiden about easing the reins just a tad for she was eager for pleasant and honest company and thought Frena might provide it. The girl clearly had very little sense of propriety and Tauriel was eager to take advantage of the kinship it might provide.

They walked a short distance to a finely made lift that impressively managed to fit their entire party, and Tauriel peered through the prettily wrought grating to mark their descent. She could smell the bitter note of the forges wafting with the cooler air that billowed up from below them, fascinated by how eerily it all mirrored the night sky. The caverns were well lit, but she could see the promise of darkness, a haunting circle of mystery far below, and she wondered just how deeply the dwarves had delved.

Stories of _Hadhodrond_ were known widely among her people, the loss of the great mountain city a devastating blow to Middle-earth. Staring into the beckoning maw of shadow and promise, Tauriel wondered if the dwarves had learned anything from the experience or if history was doomed to repeat itself. The lift came to a smooth stop and she shook the thought away, but the flavor of an almost primal fear lingered at the back of her throat.

“This particular section of the Crafter’s Circle bears the kingdom’s most celebrated crafters and artists,” Lord Nori said, leading them across another wide path and into a slightly more confined tunnel. The tinkering of hammers and indistinct voices was almost like a song that spoke of earth and labor, a tune she found catching despite herself.

They emerged into a large chamber filled with crafting tables and dwarves. Those present must have been alerted to their arrival, for they all stood at attention near their work benches and bowed in unison when she and Kíli entered.

“This workshop is entirely dedicated to Erebor’s greatest treasure, mithril,” Lord Norí said with a hint of reverence.

The treasures placed upon the tables were almost beyond reckoning. Jewelry of such brilliance and remarkable craftsmanship glittered at her as though lit from within, but the true marvel were the weapons and armor.

“It can take many, many years to properly shape and fashion weapons made of mithril,” Lord Nori told her as she stood in awe before a row of swords and daggers the like of which she had never seen. “Once, long ago, the elves boasted knowledge that could shape the metal more easily,” he continued, “but that knowledge has since been lost. The mithril is often mixed with steel to make it more manageable, but it still requires a superior craftsman to manage it.”

Tauriel reached out and ran a finger down the blade of a particularly beautiful long knife. “May I?” she asked the dwarf behind the table. The dwarf glanced at the prince, then nodded hesitantly, though whether out of unwillingness for an elf to touch his work or merely because she was a female, she could not be certain. Faced with such beauty, however, she simply did not care.

Tauriel lifted the blade, marveling at the perfect balance of it in her palm. Without thinking, she spun it deftly in her hand a few times, getting a feel for the length and wide girth compared to her own knives.

“The lady has clearly held a blade before,” the craftsman said, jarring her from her reverie, and she glanced sharply at Lord Norí and Prince Kíli who were both watching her with a great deal of interest.

She set the knife down immediately and flushed. “Ah… yes, I have had some training,” she said and stepped away from the table, but when she looked up the craftsman was smiling. He took the knife and held it out to her.

“I made this blade when I was very young, my first in fact,” the dwarf told her. “But it is too small and light to be of any true interest to a Dwarven warrior, but ideal for a lady’s hand, if she knows how to use it, Your Highness,” he continued, his dark eyes twinkling. “Take it, as a wedding present.” At his words, whispers of dissent echoed through the chamber, reminding her that not everyone was quite so kind and open-minded about her presence or of upcoming union with their youngest prince.

Stunned and ashamed she had let her guard down so thoroughly, she stuttered, “O-Oh no, I couldn’t. It is far too fine a gift and it likely wouldn’t be appropriate-“

“May I see it?” Prince Kíli asked, startling her yet again. His expression was difficult to read as the craftsman willingly handed him the blade. The prince tested its weight, admiring the haft and elegantly shaped hilt.

“It is a fine blade, Master..?”

“Yév, Your Highness.”

“A fine blade indeed, Master Yév,” he finished with sincerity and then handed the knife to Tauriel, eyes intense. It would be rude of her, she realized, to refuse such a thing, though it's worth likely outweighed everything she owned and then a great deal more. It felt political, whatever was happening. A Dwarven craftsmen had just offered her a kingly gift and had thereby drawn a line in the sand.

Clutching the knife in a hand that welcomed the feel of leather and cool metal like a lover lost, she dipped into a small curtsey. She could play her part, even though she was quite sure she didn’t know the lines. “Thank you, Master Yév, for it is the finest gift I am likely to ever receive.”

The dwarf presented her with an exceptionally made sheath and bowed over it. “A beautiful knife for a beautiful lady, Your Highness. Mahal, bless you and your union.”

They left the workshop shortly thereafter and she unwillingly handed the knife off to Hilde for safekeeping. Tauriel felt rattled, hardly hearing what Lord Norí told her about the subsequent crafting shops that dealt with gold, silver, jewels, and steel. She was caught in an intricate web made of strings she could not see.

Her distress must have been obvious for, as they passed through a tunnel on their way to view the main mine shaft, Prince Kíli leaned toward her and said quietly, “You did well. Do not look so concerned.”

It was perhaps the kindest thing he had said and it birthed a pang of longing in her breast. “It was too fine a thing to receive,” she whispered back, “but I feel caught in a current that I cannot escape.”

Prince Kíli’s expression darkened and he drew a bit away, looking not at her but ahead. “Many are displeased over our union, this should come as no surprise, but there are many who remain unfailingly loyal to my uncle and it is important that they express that loyalty in the face of dissent.” His tone was neutral, his speech carrying a note of rehearsed practicality.

Whatever response she might have formulated, however, was forgotten as they stepped into a massive cavern, so large she could not see the mountain above or below.

“This,” Lord Norí announced, “is where we mine primarily for mithril.” He bowed and swept a hand of invitation toward a viewing balcony.

Tauriel approached eagerly and leaned over the ledge, peering into the mine below. Many dwarves lined the cavern walls, dutifully mining away as heavily laden carts of ore were sent on their way to some mysterious location.

“Look, there,” Lord Norí said next to her, pointing. “Do you see that bright vein there? It is newly struck and very rich.”

She did see it, tendrils like spiraling roots made of starlight swirling within the surrounding rock.  

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Truly.”

“Our people feel most at home here, far beneath the earth,” the scholar continued, the reverence back in his voice as he, too, stared into the abyss of darkness below. “Here we commune with Mahal through stone and rock, here we can be at peace with our place in the world.”

Some distant part of her could almost feel it, a low hum that vibrated beneath her feet, but she was born of stars and sky and the song of earth and mountain were not for her to hear.   

* * *

When the princess had suggested they stay in the lower levels, Kíli had been shocked and then thrilled. Mahal, he’d always felt so damned uneasy within the extravagant inns his family always insisted upon.

The Broken Anvil was his chosen inn when not frequenting more… _risqué_ establishments, as it sported a large dinner hall and bar room, a large bathing pool, as well as comfortable and clean rooms that were not overwhelmed by heavily embroidered cushions. It was where merchants stayed when they traveled, where well-to-do families took their holidays, and where he enjoyed staying when business, personal or official, brought him to the lower circles. And, he could admit, some part of him was eager to see his soon-to-be bride in such circumstances, surrounded by the common folk, a flagon of ale before her, lively music filling a cheery hall.

He could hardly imagine it.

So far, everything the Elven Princess did astonished him. She was not at all what he had expected. When she’d descended into the courtyard that morning, he had been caught by how truly fetching she looked in her simple gown, hardly able to help the appreciative glances he threw her way.

But, perhaps, the most shocking moment of the day had been the flash of the knife in her hands while touring the workshops, well trained fingers flipping the weapon easily in her grasp. It sparked a sense of curiosity that he’d almost convinced himself he did not possess, at least, not when it concerned his future bride. The events of the day weighed heavily on his mind as her words near the central mine echoed in his head.

 _“…I feel caught in a current that I cannot escape.”_ The words had struck such a resounding chord within him he had instinctively relied on political parlance to mask his true reaction. It had dampened his mood, drawing him back toward melancholic brooding as he sat in the bar room of the Broken Anvil.

Norí was still clearly displeased with the change in arrangements, but the princess’s obvious and diligent curiosity was slowly easing his concerns.  The older dwarf and his betrothed were engaged in an animated discussion of how their kingdom managed long distance travel within the mountain, Orí occasionally chiming in, and clearly did not need his input. Still, there were more than a few times he caught her looking at him, just small glances that would dart away, but there was some hint of curiosity there as well. He had a sense that she wished to know him better and only stubborn pride kept him from giving into the same impulse. His sense of betrayal was still too fresh, his mother’s distance too upsetting.

Eventually he excused himself to get a bit of air and space. As he departed, he could feel her eyes upon him, ever curious and searching. He found privacy in the alley outside the kitchens and leaned against a cool stone wall, letting his head fall back with a sigh. This area of the third circle, affectionately called Merchant’s Cradle for the way the inner portions of it dipped inward, was fairly clean and safe. There were no vagabonds sleeping in corners or shifting shadows in dimly lit tunnels, but it still possessed a certain common charm that he’d always found appealing. There was nothing and no one but him and his ragged thoughts.

Kíli turned suddenly, pushing away from the wall, sensing movement. Princess Tauriel stepped uncertainly into the torch light. Her hair burned brighter than the flames that flickered between the strands from a nearby torch and he wondered idly if they would be hot to the touch. There was a smile, part knowing and part nervous, sliding across her teeth and it warmed him to the backbone.

Something shifted inside him. The green of her eyes was deep and full of longing, a longing that echoed through him. Not the physical yearning he felt when he thought of the dance they’d shared, but something else, something that called for closeness and understanding.

“Share a drink with me, my lord?” she asked, voice pitched low. From inside the tavern, music and song filtered outside, jolly and warm as it reached out to them from across the way.  

“Considering the circumstances, perhaps you could call me Kíli,” he said as charmingly as he could manage. There was something about the moment, one that held them just a little bit apart from the rest of the world, and it made him want to be kind, welcoming even.

The events of the day, her honest interest in his people, and her reaction to the mithril master’s gift, had softened some part of him.

She smiled a little and passed him an earthenware cup and he recalled, with almost startling clarity, that first day before everything had become official, when they had stood almost exactly as they did now. This time, however, her fingers brushed and lingered as he took the cup from her. It felt like the start of something.

She flushed prettily and looked away, then said, as though she’d read his mind, “I would like to apologize for my previous taciturnity. I know this is not something either of us wanted or expected. I should not have been so-“

“Please, if you start apologizing, then I’ll have to as well, and I’ve always found apologies to be terribly boring,” he interrupted, drinking a bit of the cheap mead to chase away the knot of nervousness forming in his throat.

She lifted a brow. “Everyone speaks to me of your recklessness. I think now I understand what they mean,” the statement might have been accusatory if not for the hint of humor in her eyes.

“And what of you?” he pressed, years of experience with women telling him to direct the conversation away from himself. “Few have offered me any insight into your behaviors and vices.”

The princess smiled, almost to herself, and looked out across the hall throwing half her features into shadow. “My father believes that I am also too reckless and bold, though I suspect he would just prefer that I were easier to manage.”

Kíli had a hard time envisioning her as anything but composed and ethereal, no matter how like a fighter she sometimes moved, and asked, “But what of your true parents?”

Her visage was instantly shadowed and he felt an utter fool. Curiosity had gotten the better of him.

“I am sorry,” he said, “I did not mean to cause you any distress.”

She flashed him a smirk. “Apologies are boring, remember?”

Kíli felt his face heat and he wondered when he’d become so clumsy at this. “Ah, right, but it was foolish of me to ask either way.”

Another smile that he could not place, though her eyes were not as bright as they had been.

“No, it is truly alright. It was a long, long time ago, so long that I hardly remember them.”

In a rare show of solidarity Kíli said, “My father died when I was young, a hunting accident.” He had no idea what had gotten into him; he never spoke of his father if he could help it.

Her eyes flickered to him, something like understanding lingering within. “I am sorry for your loss. I know how devastating it can be.”

Disliking how serious the conversation had become, Kíli forced a smile and said teasingly, “Tell me, what is it that elves do for fun? You lot always seem so… solemn.”

This surprised a laugh from her and it was so sweet and pure that it made his heart ache for the space of a beat.

“I must confess that my diversions were not considered precisely... _common_ among my people, at least, for those of my sex.”

“I did happen to notice your ease with the knife,” he said as casually as he could. Women among his people often learned to fight, to a certain degree. There was even a division of women that were placed in a special guard designed to protect a queen, which they had not had for many long years. They now served his mother or in other areas where men-folk were not allowed.

The princess colored and bit her lip, the unconscious action heating his blood so that he had to look away. The thought that _he’d_ like to be the one biting that lip was immediately subdued; he was being ridiculous.

“I have spent much of my life in weapons training,” she confessed. “I, ah, served my father in such a manner for many long years.”

“Served him… in battle?” he asked in disbelief. Such a thing was unheard of among dwarves.

Their women were few enough that they were protected beyond even the most precious jewel. The thief-turned-maid they had recently acquired an obvious exception.  

She glanced at him, uncertainty blatant in her eyes. “Not battle, per se, but in defense of our homeland, yes. Giant spiders of late, and the occasional orc or goblin party that wandered within our borders.”

Kíli was not sure he believed it. “I, ah, see,” he ventured, unsure of what to say or think. Part of him, a rather large part if he were being honest, found the idea… appealing. Another part found it off-centered and alarming.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a long swig of her mead. “I should not have said anything. My father warned me it would be ill received-“

“No, no,” he blurted. “I was just surprised, that is all. Many of our women know how to use a blade, though few if any have ever seen true battle or violence.”

She rewarded him with a small smile and she looked more… substantial, _real_ , than he had ever seen her. So much so that he forgot her age and experience and found that somewhere between them there might be a common ground on which to stand. Lost in thought, he only belatedly realized they had begun to gravitate toward one another, his gaze fixed unconsciously on her lips, the bottom one slightly swollen where she had bit it.

Embarrassed he jerked back and cleared his throat. “We ought to return inside before Norí comes in search of us.”    

He’d turned away and taken a few steps forward before gentle fingers caught him by the shoulder. Kíli froze in place as though the stone beneath his feet had reached up and trapped him where he stood.

“I know this is terribly forward of me, but there is something I wish to try.”

Though the words made little sense to him, something about her tone and the look in her eyes when he turned toward her made heat thunder through his veins with a suddenness that nearly robbed him of speech.

“I am at your service,” he said hoarsely.  

She was very close to him, close enough that he had to tilt his head back a bit to look at her.

She studied his face with an intensity that made the hair on the back of his neck and across his arms stand on end, as though she were trying to reach down and grasp at the contents of his soul.  Never had anyone looked at him in such a way, as though he were more than he was.

Before his mind could catch up with his body, she leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to his.

Kíli had quite a lot of experience with women _and_ kissing them, but, despite the chaste nature of it, no kiss had quite thrilled him so much as this one. For a brief moment he pressed back, seeking her warmth like a man who’d been lost in a snowstorm as he stumbled toward the light of a distant fire, but then she drew sharply away and his eyes flew open. Again she studied him with almost unnerving intensity.

“Good night, Kíli,” she said at a whisper, her face close enough that he could taste her words on his lips.

She left as quietly as she had appeared, making him wonder, for a wild second, whether or not she had ever truly been there at all.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Elves basically don't sleep buuuut I decided to ignore that for this fic because reasons. What did you think of the kiss, eh? The wedding is nearly here folks! Followed by the wedding night *wink*. Feel free to find me on Tumblr if you have any questions or just want to chat.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, here we are, thoughts anyone?
> 
> Basically I felt the need to write this fic in parallel to my other fic, The Heir Apparent, for several reason, a) I wanted to write a REAL everyone lives fic, for obvious BotFA reasons, b) I really enjoy the arranged marriage trope and Kiliel just felt kind of perfect for it, and most importantly c) I wanted to write smut in a way that THA's pacing kind of won't allow and yeah... don't judge me! 
> 
> The dress Tauriel wears in this chapter is heavily based on the cosplay by Starparticles, it's amazing and you should check it out http://starparticles.tumblr.com/tagged/starlight-gown
> 
> -Sindarin Translations-  
> Minuial: Dawn  
> Elleth: elf-maid


End file.
